


If This Bullet

by CoralFlowerDaylight (CoralFlower)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Other, obsessively hunts down stage directions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-08-24 02:36:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 23,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8353579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoralFlower/pseuds/CoralFlowerDaylight
Summary: Someone decides that Alexander Hamilton and Aaron Burr need to see the musical, and travels back in time to grab them, which of course, leads to situations like this (since they grabbed Alex before the duel and Burr after it): You step forward and place a hand on Alexander’s shoulder.“My apologies for my friend Alexander,” you almost continue into what has become sort of your catchphrase over these past years (“my friend Alexander, whom I shot”), “ma’am. I’m certain he didn’t intend to interrupt your evening.” You nod to the confused looking man who has just arrived on the scene, and tug on Alexander’s shoulder to get him to sit.He turns to you, eyes intense, and says under a breath,“What are you doing?” You remove your hand from his shoulder and reply,“Since nobody else is asking about the lights, it is probably safe to assume that they are perfectly expected in this time period.” He nods, frowning slightly in concentration, and then you can see the idea dawning on his face, and before you can stop him, he turns to the people behind you and says,“So how does Alexander Hamilton die again?”(Written up to "Wait For It" as of 6/13/17!)





	1. Introduction

You find yourself in a bright room, with thick carpeting, cool air, a clean smell. You blink, look to your left, and conclude you must be dead. Alexander opens his mouth. He looks young. You cringe.  
“Burr?” You nod, and Hamilton raises an eyebrow. “You’ve grown old, somehow, my friend.” Friend? “Do you happen to have even the slightest idea where we are, Burr?”  
“I do not.” You notice a bench, and move to sit. Hamilton sits with you.

You sit in silence. Hamilton fidgets. You think. And then someone else comes in. It is explained to you that the year is 2015, someone has written a ‘musical’ about Alexander, and you will be expected to sit through the entire thing. Hamilton agrees readily, intrigued, but you aren’t sure.

The man explaining everything looks at you with a strange expression. Like he knows. You break off eye contact and wonder why the hell he doesn’t say anything; it’s almost worse than the outright insults you are used to.

The man finishes explaining. You are ushered inside. You get good seats, front row center. Alexander attempts to make conversation. You are preoccupied.

People start coming in. You’ve already been told not to question any of the clothes, but it’s still difficult to take in. Fashion is capricious.

You start listening to Alexander again. He is remarking on the lighting of this strange new era. The man from earlier attempted to explain, but it wasn’t nearly enough to satisfy Hamilton.  
“They are like miniature suns, almost. I wonder if they feel warm, up close. Do you think they would let us check?” You deliberate for a half a moment, and then answer him.  
“I don’t rightly know. Why don’t you ask?” You are mostly joking when you suggest that he ask, but you say it dryly enough that Alexander doesn’t realise. You silently watch him tap the shoulder of some random person, feeling like there’s something caught in your throat-- he’s _alive_ \-- but then he’s getting a funny look from the person and you decide it would be prudent to step in.

You step forward and place a hand on Alexander’s shoulder.  
“My apologies for my friend Alexander,” you almost continue into what has become sort of your catchphrase over these past years (“my friend Alexander, _whom I shot_ ”), “ma’am. I’m certain he didn’t intend to interrupt your evening.” You nod to the confused looking man who has just arrived on the scene, and tug on Alexander’s shoulder to get him to sit.

He turns to you, eyes intense, and says under a breath,  
“What are you doing?” You remove your hand from his shoulder and reply,  
“Since nobody else is asking about the lights, it is probably safe to assume that they are perfectly expected in this time period.” He nods, frowning slightly in concentration, and then you can see the idea dawning on his face, and before you can stop him, he turns to the people behind you and says,  
“So how does Alexander Hamilton die again?” You tense, and grab his arm, simultaneously looking apologetically, pleadingly in the direction of this new unfortunate person he has chosen to bother, willing them to keep silent, wanting to prolong it as long as possible (you aren’t ready for him to hate you again, so soon), and hurriedly say (you can hear the nervousness leaking into your own voice, you hope Alexander doesn’t make anything of it),  
“You don’t have to tell him, he honestly should have found that out before we arrived here if he--”  
“Oh no, it’s fine-- hmm, I’m not actually sure, lemme google it. Wasn’t it a duel or something?” You have no idea what ‘google’ is supposed to mean, but Alexander is already shaking his head and saying,  
“No, that was m-- his son.” You look at the person and they are holding a rectangular item which illuminates their face and you are praying to God that something stops this-- Ah. The lights suddenly dim. The person mutters an apology, and shoves the rectangle into a pocket, and Alexander turns back around, looking dissatisfied. You allow yourself to breathe.

The man from earlier, the one who explained everything, walks out onto the stage, illuminated by some light that’s likely similar in nature to those Alexander asked about.  
“Hello! During tonight’s performance, we are hosting two rather special guests,” if he is talking about you, then you really don’t understand why he plans to tell everyone about it (also his voice is strangely amplified), “one Alexander Hamilton and one Aaron Burr. They have traveled long and-- well, not very far, spatially, but mostly just long--” the audience laughs “to attend our performance tonight, and if either of them would like to say anything, I have a microphone right here.” He pulls something out of his coat. Alexander stands, and you hear the person behind you say “oh my gosh.”  
“What is a microphone?” The man on the stage kneels down and brandishes the object at Alexander.  
“Could you repeat that?”  
“What is a micro-- oh, I see. That is quite impressive.”  
“Thank you.”  
“I do not have very much to say that wouldn’t be obvious, but I would like to ask, how do I die?” The man on the stage winks,  
“You’ll see.” You stand, without really deciding to, and lean over to say,  
“I don’t think this is funny.” The man tilts his head theatrically, reminding you that this is all just a show.  
“Hm?”  
"You're standing there, so assured in your own correctness, playing it off so that these people think this is all just an act-- of course it has to be an act, if Alexander ends up well-known enough to have a play written about his life (admittedly what, just over 200 years after his death if my math is correct? but I digress) then the only natural assumption is that this cannot be the real Alexander Hamilton, because if it were, you would not allow him to find out about his death, because there is no way he would ever allow the circumstances which caused it to take place if he knew. However, when Alexander died, it was in the wake of, firstly, his son's death; secondly, an affair which tarnished his reputation and relationship with his wife forever; and thirdly, his eldest daughter's slow descent into insanity. Given all of this, why wouldn't he have searched for an honourable way out, and if he thought he could poison my political pursuits and make me pay for it--" you cut yourself off, and take a few deep breaths. The man on the stage looks chagrined. Alexander looks confused.  
"I feel almost as though this is an elaborate set up to make me say something incriminating. What's going on, Burr?" You wave him off.  
"Just do your show."

Another light shines onto the stage, and onto a black man in a pink costume. He raises one of those 'microphones' to his face.  
"Is that remorse I detect, Burr?" Some people into the audience applaud. The new guy winks and nods. You stand back up.  
"Who are you supposed to be?" The new guy laughs.  
"Thomas Jefferson, at your service." Alexander makes a noise of disbelief, and exclaims,  
"You don't look a thing like Jefferson!" The man from earlier cuts in,  
"It's the story of America then told by America now." You frown as Alexander mutters "at least they still call it the same thing" and then you realise--  
"Dear God. Dear God, they got the vote? They got freed?"  
"Yes, we 'got freed'," says 'Jefferson' drily.  
"Did someone back an amendment like the one I wanted? When? _How_ , for God's sake?" The other man cuts in again.  
"There was a war. Bloodiest in American history. But this is off-topic."  
"Yeah, these people came to see a show. We gotta give ‘em what they want," the fake Jefferson adds. You sit back down, and pull Alexander back down when he tries to stand again.

The lights go out, and then come back on centered on another black man in the center of the stage. This one is bald.

Music starts up, and then:  
"How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a scotsman--"

Alexander clambers up onto the stage. You aren't fast enough to stop him.  
"Good sir!" The actor looks at him, amusement clear on his face.  
"Yes?"  
"Is that something you would say facing me twenty paces away in clear daylight or would you rather retract it and either way retain your honour?"  
"I won't retract the truth, Mr. Hamilton." Alexander deflates, thinks for a moment, and then puffs himself back up again.  
"That is still extremely personal information, and I am appalled that--"  
"Mr. Hamilton, you have been dead for over two hundred years. Additionally, this time period is far more progressive than yours, and no one who matters holds it against you. Sit down, Alex, you salty motherfucker." That draws some laughter from the audience.  
"Good sir!" The actor looks off-stage evasively. "How can you make any statement as to my supposed saltiness when you have never experienced it for yourself?" You choke on air. Why is he talking about this? Why, of all things, did he have to misinterpret _that_?  
"Wow. That is... really gay." Alexander crosses his arms.  
"Excuse me? I am the opposite of gay right now. I am upset. I am appalled. I am--"  
"No, I mean gay like, homosexual. You and John Laurens."

Alexander turns bright red. He splutters.  
"Laurens and I-- How dare you-- My good and honourable friend John Laurens passed away on August 27th 1782 and you have the gall, the _temerity_  to insinuate that he was anything other than a man of honour; indeed, that the relationship between the two of us was anything other than the relationship between two honourable men-- who are you even supposed to be?"  
"Aaron Burr." Alexander shakes his head, hatred in his eyes.  
"No. _That_ is Aaron Burr," he gestures towards you, and you stand, and climb onto the stage to stop him, "and he was my first friend, my--"  
"His enemy, Hamilton, sit down. Our choices all were made with honour, do your first number-- that's all you had to say!" Alexander sits down. You hold out your hand for your modern counterpart to shake, and idly wonder what he's laughing at as you say,  
"I apologise, Mr.... Mr. Burr, I suppose." You sit down.

"One more thing!"  
You look up towards the ceiling and pray for him to stop.  
"Explain why all of you are so much louder than me." Of all the ridiculous things...  
"It's called a microphone." When Alexander doesn't immediately sit down, stage-Burr says, "...Are you wanting one?"  
"That would be nice." Stage-Burr looks off-stage.  
"Do we give him a mic, guys?" Someone off-stage says,  
"I mean, why not, right?" Stage-Burr heaves a sigh, and turns back to Alexander,  
"We'll get you one after this first song." Alexander sits down, clearly dissatisfied, and glares daggers at stage-Burr. The music starts back up.  
"How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean..."

You look over at Alexander. He's in a posture which you used to know well, the one that says he is stewing in his own anger, building up plans in his head, planning out entire essays, or even sometimes speeches. You are filled with dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going with the play's characterisation of Burr and Hamilton, but giving them the general opinions of the originals as well as the appearances. Additionally, I'm pretending the musical was accurate about stuff like Angelica's marriage and the circumstances of Laurens's death, for now. But if I run out of things for Alex to get mad about that may change.
> 
> Please comment or I probably won't have motivation to write any more.


	2. You never have been (but just you wait).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I your enemy, truly, Burr?” You cannot do anything other than shake your head.
> 
> “You never have been.”

_How does a bastard, orphan, son of a whore and a Scotsman, dropped in the middle of a forgotten spot in the Caribbean, by providence, impoverished, in squalor, grow up to be a hero and a scholar?_

 

Another light streams down onto the stage to reveal another person, who continues, and you look over at Alexander, wondering how long it’ll take him to cool down from this or if he’s already outlining a pamphlet refuting this play and everything associated with it.

 

Alexander tries to stand again when stage-Burr says, ‘ _this kid is insane, man!_ ’ but you pull him back down, this time.

 

... _took up a collection just to send him to the mainland, get your education, don’t forget from whence you came, and the world’s gonna know your name, what’s your name man?_

 

Alexander can’t seem to help preening at the line about the world knowing his name, but you are more concerned about the fact that the man from earlier, the one who explained everything, seems to be playing Alexander. You nudge him, and nod towards the stage. His mouth falls open, and then he closes it. He is probably only biding his time until they give him a microphone.

 

You keep watching. The sequence about his early life makes you feel things that you don’t want to acknowledge, so you swallow it down and blink hard. It goes away.

 

You look at Alexander again, and his face is unreadable; he is wearing the same expression he did during the duel, which has already happened for you, but not for him. You tap him on the shoulder, and he looks at you, and smiles slightly. He leans over to whisper,

“Am I your enemy, truly, Burr?” You cannot do anything other than shake your head.

“You never have been.”

 

_Just you waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaait!_

 

“I’m glad.” He smiles.

 

_We are waiting in the wings for you._

 

“That’s good.”

 

_You could never back down._

 

You turn back to the stage. You aren’t crying.

 

_You never learned to take your…_

 

Actually, maybe you are crying.

 

_tiiiiiiiime._

 

That’s definitely accurate, in your opinion. Alexander seems resigned. Maybe he has decided that he won’t denounce these people after all. You can only hope.

 

_...will they know what you overcame…_

 

You take out your handkerchief and do your best to wipe your eyes discreetly. You peek at Alexander. Thankfully, he is too caught up in what’s going on onstage to notice.

 

_...will they know you rewrote the game…_

 

Stage-Alexander is walking down some stairs now.

 

 _the world will never be the same_ …

 

Stage-Burr jumps onto the same staircase just as stage-Alexander steps away from it.

 

_...ship is in the harbour now, see if you can spot him! Another immigrant, comin’ up from the bottom! His enemies destroyed his rep…_

 

“I destroyed my _own_ rep, assuming that’s short for reputation,” mutters Alexander. You chuckle.

“That’s the truth.”

 

_...we fought with him… me? I died for him!_

 

Alexander flinches. You wince.

 

_Me? I trusted him!_

 

Three women on a balcony say the next line.

 

_Me? I loved him!_

 

Stage-Burr says,

“ _And me?_ ” and you cringe, suddenly panicking. You make eye contact with stage-you, you can tell he sees the fear in your eyes, “ _I’m the damn fool that shot him!_ ”

 

Alexander turns and grabs your arm. You wrench it out of his grip and hold yourself away from him, refusing to make eye contact, staring at the floor. It’s different, when the people confronting you didn’t know him or didn’t understand him or both, but you cannot bring yourself to be cavalier or uncouth about his death when he is the one demanding an answer.

 

He reaches for you and grabs you by the hand, _makes_ you look at him-- god, he could never be satisfied with a non-answer-- and says,

“Who instigated it?” You swallow.

“I don’t want to talk about this.”

“Burr--”

“I refuse to talk about this.”

“Aaron, if you would simply--”

“Alexander, I will not. Do not cause me to repeat myself again.”

  
He sits back again, and stares resolutely ahead as the song ends. You look away too, and swallow down disgust as the crowd cheers. You wish they wouldn't.

Someone rushes out with a microphone to hand to Alexander as they are changing the scene around. He takes it, asks which end to use, and then catches you looking at him. You have no idea what emotions are currently on your face. He looks away, so you do too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think!


	3. Aaron Burr, Sir

A chorus gives the year and location, and then stage-Alex stops stage-Burr with,

 

_ Pardon me! Are you Aaron Burr, sir? _

 

Stage-you looks up from a book. He appears hurried.

 

_ That depends, who’s asking? _

 

_ Oh, well, sure, sir! I’m Alexander Hamilton, I’m at your service sir! I have been looking for you! _

 

You can’t help chuckling at the next line, “ _ I’m getting nervous _ ,” and you look over at Alexander. He is still looking straight ahead, but you can see in the specific way he is angling his eyebrows that he is falling apart on the inside. He looked the same way the first time you saw him after Laurens’s death.

“Alexander…?” He looks at you, and his face closes off. You swallow, and your hand shakes where it’s resting on the armrest. You search his eyes for anything you could say to fix this, and find nothing. You want to give up.

 

He looks down for a moment, and when he looks back up at you, his face is open again, afraid, anxious, betrayed. You just look at him, and something in your eyes must make him feel something other than fear, because his soften and he puts a hand on your shoulder. You swallow down your relief and look back at the stage, face burning with the feeling of being understood, or if not understood, cared for, at least.

 

_...I may’ve punched him. It’s a blur, sir. He handles the financials? _

 

You laugh at that, and look over at Alexander.

“He looked at me like I was stupid! I’m not stupid.”

“I know.”

 

_ You punched the bursar. _

 

Alexander raises his microphone and coincidentally ends up saying “yes!” at the same time as stage-Alex, which draws a laugh from the audience. You also laugh, because he looks put out about his accurately portrayed reaction which is just so funny; he wants a legacy but then feels annoyed when they get it right.

 

_ I wanted to do what you did, graduate in two and join the revolution, he looked at me like I was stupid, I’m not stupid! _

 

Alexander’s jaw drops.

“But I just said that!” he whispers.

 

_ So how’d you do it? How’d you graduate so fast? _

 

You laugh at him again, and he looks at you stone-faced, pretending to be angry-- you hope he is pretending.

 

Stage-Burr closes his book and begins to walk to the right side of the stage as he says the next line.

 

_ It was my parents’ dying wish before they passed. _

 

_ You’re an orphan! Of course! I’m an orphan! God, I wish there was a war… _

 

Alexander looks up at the stage in surprise. If you had to guess, it’s at how accurately they are portraying your first meeting. You remember some of what was said, and even though none of it rhymed, they are happening to hit most of the important points of it. It’s honestly extremely impressive, and stage-Burr does a very good job with his role. You were apprehensive at first, and you still are, but you like this part, at least.

 

_...let me offer you some free advice. _

 

_ Talk less. _

 

The audience laughs, and you marvel at the way they’ve condensed your entire philosophy into a two-word phrase, which you never actually said to Hamilton because, well, telling him wouldn’t exactly be talking less.

 

_ What? _

 

_ Smile more. Don’t let them know what you’re against or what you’re for. _

 

_ You can’t be serious. _

 

An exact quote, though likely through coincidence. Alexander presses his lips together.

 

_ You wanna get ahead? _

 

_ Yes! _

 

_ Fools who run their mouths off wind up dead. _

 

You wince at that part, and Alexander puts a hand on your arm. You nod at him. This is so surreal. You are probably dead and imagining things, or something. You sigh, and begin saying something, but then you hear the name “John Laurens” and both of you look back at the stage.

 

.. _ in the place to be! a two pints of Sam Adams but I’m workin’ on three! _

 

Alexander’s eyes are shining, and it hits you again, all at once. He’s alive. He’s _ alive. _ And it’s enough.

 

_ Those redcoats don’t want it with me! ‘Cus I’mma-- _

 

He makes some meaningless noises.

 

_ \--these cops ‘til I’m free! _

 

The scene has shifted to focus on a table, and two other people at the table bang on it in time with the rhythm. It’s a strange way to keep time, but it works for the music, you suppose.

 

_ Oui oui, mon ami, je m’appelle Lafayette! _

 

Alexander is still watching stage-Laurens. You’d guess he’s trying to reconcile the man onstage with the man he knew. You hope he won’t make a scene attempting to refute these actors. Sure, they may not look anything like the people you knew, but they do seem to have put in the effort to learn what all of you are (were?) actually like. For example:

 

_...I am Hercules Mulligan, up in it, lovin’ it, I heard your mother said “Come again!” _

 

Alexander’s eyebrows shoot up at that, but you have already inferred from stage-you’s casual mention of Alexander’s mother that this era makes far less of a fuss about sexual proclamations in a public setting.

 

_ Lock up your daughters, and horses, _

 

Dear sweet Jesus.

 

_...of course, it’s hard to have intercourse over four sets of corsets. _

 

Well, if Shakespeare can make phallus jokes, you suppose these people can too.

 

Stage Lafayette says,

“ _ Wow. _ ”

 

_ No more sex! Pour me another brew, son! Let’s raise a couple more, to the revolution! _

 

Alexander is shaking his head in a mixture of amusement, disbelief, and fond reminiscence.

 

_ Well if it ain’t the prodigy of Princeton college! _

 

You do remember something like this, now that it occurs to you to think back on it.

 

_ Aaron Burr. _

 

_ Give us a verse, drop some knowledge! _

 

The rhythmic noises they are making with their mouths shift to be more of a buzzing hum with an overarching beat, instead of just raspberry noises with a rhythm, and you nod absently upon noticing it, as this accompaniment seems more classy to you. You are glad the change happened for stage-you’s lines.

 

_ Good luck with that, you takin’ a stand. You spit, I’mma sit! We’ll see where we land. _

 

Ah. Subtle but effective, and pleasingly concise. You raise an eyebrow at Alexander as stage-Lafayette, stage-Laurens, and stage-Mulligan make disparaging noises, and he concedes with a slight nod of his head. Stage-Burr has proven himself more than worthy of the role, and even Alexander has to admit it.

 

_ Burr, the revolution’s imminent, what do you stall for? _

 

_ If you stand for nothing, Burr, what’ll you fall for? _

 

Stage-Alex steps forwards as he says it, and makes eye contact with stage-Burr just as the others start to get up,

 

_ Who are you? _

 

Stage-Burr looks over at stage-Laurens-Lafayette-Mulligan, and then back at stage-Alexander.

 

_ Who are you? _

 

You look at Alexander.

 

_ Who are you? _

 

He looks back at you, and whispers,

“I did say that, didn’t I.” You nod. His mouth twists in vague annoyance, and you barely manage to suppress another chuckle. Alexander always has been a mess of contradictions, even after... Even after you killed him.

 

_ Ooh, who is this kid, what’s he gonna do? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of your support so far, it's really nice to log in to all of your comments, I really appreciate the feedback you have been giving me. As always, please leave a comment telling me what you think of this chapter!
> 
> (Oh man, I am really excited to get to "The Schuyler Sisters" so that I can have them react to stage-Burr's skipping, dancing, and general frolicking, as well as the guy dancing with the book halfway through. I really recommend looking up the video, it's quite amusing.)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I can't just fuck a founding father, man."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning this is a gay chapter. it's also the longest one so far at 2055 words, although I anticipate that either farmer refuted or wait for it or both will end up longer.
> 
> suffice it to say that i have plans.
> 
> also it's really funny to imagine hamilton and burr reacting to this gif:
> 
> http://www.reactiongifs.com/happy-4th-july-2/
> 
> i highly recommend checking that out its really diverting,

_I am not throwin’ away my shot!_

 

Alexander’s brow is furrowed as the music starts up and they transition into another song, and it takes you barely a second to realise what they are doing here.

 

_I am not throwin’ away my shot!_

 

He did throw away his shot.

 

_Hey yo I’m just like my country, I’m young, scrappy, and hungry, and I’m not throwin’ away my shot!_

 

Alexander nods, watching as stage-Alex sets down his drink on the table and steps back to stand in center stage.

 

_I’mma get a scholarship to King’s College! I prolly shouldn’t brag but dag, I amaze and astonish!_

 

Alexander grins. You also smile, noting that stage-you is sitting at a different table than stage-Lafayette-Laurens-Mulligan, which makes sense, as you tried to avoid being seen with them in public before it was obvious a war would happen.

 

_Problems is, I got a lotta brains but no polish!_

 

Alexander nudges you.

“Look at John.” Stage-Laurens is watching stage-Alex with an expression of awe, which seems fitting to you-- the man is really speaking quite fast.

 

_...with every word, I drop knowledge!_

 

“What about him?” Alexander shrugs, an expression of concentration on his face. You hope he decides something positive about stage-Laurens. You pity him if he has to face Alexander’s wrath.

 

_I’m a diamond in the rough, a shiny piece of coal_

 

You don’t understand the second half of that line.

 

_Tryin’ to reach my goal, my power of speech-- unimpeachable!_

 

“That’s improper usage of--!” You grab the microphone away from him.

 

_...n-- my mind is older, these New York City streets get colder…_

 

“Hey!”

“Hush.”

 

_...Every burden, every disadvantage I have learned to manage,_

 

Alexander quits trying to grab the microphone back from you and freezes to look up at the stage in awe.

 

_I don’t have a gun to brandish I walk these streets famished!_

 

His mouth falls open, and he makes a soft noise of amazement in your ear. You shove him off you and hold the microphone in your right hand, the one farthest from him.

 

_The plan is to fan this spark into a flame! But damn it’s gettin’ dark so let me spell out my name! I am the--_

 

They proceed to spell out Alexander’s name, and you are caught off guard when Alex lunges for the microphone and succeeds in grabbing it out of your hand.

 

_...A colony that runs independently,_ _meanwhile Britain keeps shittin’ on us endlessly. Essentially, they tax us relentlessly,_

 

Alexander looks starstruck.

 

_then King George turns around, runs a spendin’ spree!_

 

You gently lift the microphone back out of his hands, and it takes him a full second to notice.

 

_He ain’t never gonna set his descendants free,_

 

“Hey!”

 

_...so there will be a revolution in this century! Enter me,_

 

Alexander looks up in the middle of trying to steal the microphone back, with a supremely confused expression on his face.

“They mean it like a stage direction,” you say helpfully, “not with the likely very… what was it, ‘gay’ connotations you are thinking of.”

 

_...don’t be shocked when your history book mentions me…_

 

He glares up at you, and since he is laying across your lap anyway (from trying to take the microphone), you put your elbows on his back and rest your chin on your hands.

 

_...I will lay down my life if it sets us free…_

 

He narrows his eyes at you, and you cock your head and look innocently back at him.

 

_Eventually, you’ll see my ascendancy,_

 

He pokes you in the side, and you flinch. You drop the microphone, and he catches it before it can hit the floor and quickly sits back up before you can try to grab it again. You hear giggling from the people directly behind you.

 

They repeat the chorus as you and Alexander continue to fight over the microphone (which is honestly ridiculous, as neither of you are even wanting to say anything right now), and then stage-Lafayette jumps onto the table and says,

 

_I dream of life without a monarchy. The unrest in France will lead to anarchy, anar-- how you say, how you-- oh, ANarchy. When I fight I make the other side panicky with my_

 

Everyone onstage says the next word.

 

_SHOT._

 

Alexander stops grabbing for the microphone to watch as stage-Mulligan gets up and places a hand on stage-Alex’s shoulder to say his lines.

 

_Yo, I’m a tailor’s apprentice, and I got y’all knuckleheads in loco parentis._

 

“What’s a knucklehead?”

 

_I’m joinin’ the rebellion ‘cus I know it’s my chance  to socially advance instead’a sewin’ some pants, I’m gonna take a_

 

You shake your head at Alexander, and he frowns.

 

_SHOT._

 

Stage-Laurens gets up, and Alexander is immediately on the edge of his seat.

 

_And bro we’ll never be truly free,_

 

Alexander leans forwards.

 

_until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me,_

 

He grins.

 

_You and I,_

 

He breathes in sharply, as stage-Laurens puts a hand on stage-Alex’s shoulder and stage-Alex leans in.

 

_do or die,_

 

Alexander places a hand over his mouth and blinks hard.

 

_Wait ‘til I sally in on a stallion with the first black battalion, have another_

 

Alexander shakes his head in what appears to be disbelief and sits back.

 

_SHOT._

 

Stage-you walks back over to the table.

 

_Geniuses, lower your voices. You keep outta trouble and you double your choices._

 

You try to look meaningfully at Alexander, but he’s too busy looking appraisingly at stage Laurens to notice.

 

_I’m with you, but the situation is fraught. You’ve got to be carefully taught, if you talk, you’re gonna get shot._

 

_Burr! Check what we got! Mr. Lafayette, hard rock like Lancelot,_

 

You nudge Alexander and wiggle your eyebrows. He shoves you.

 

_I think your pants look hot! Laurens, I like you a lot! Let’s…_

 

Alexander pokes you and points at stage-Laurens.

“Look at John!” Stage-Laurens is hiding his face in his elbow and sort of staggering to the side to conceal himself behind stage-Lafayette and stage-Burr. Alexander looks at you with a huge, ridiculous grin on his face, and you chuckle.

 

_...poppin’ a squat on conventional wisdom, like it or not._

 

You notice stage-Burr getting up and walking away from the table again, which you would’ve done too. You can tell the song is moving towards some sort of climax, and it’s making you antsy.

 

_A bunch of revolutionary, manumission, abolitionists, give me a position, show me where the ammunition is!_

 

There’s a long pause, and you shake your head. He never could hold his tongue.

 

_Oh, am I talkin’ too loud? Sometimes I get overexcited, shoot off at the mouth._

 

That’s putting it gently.

 

_I never had a group of friends before, I promise that I’ll make y’all proud._

 

Another pause, and then Alexander smiles as stage-Laurens says,

 

_Let’s get this guy in front of a crowd!_

 

They go back into the chorus, and  you have to smile at the way stage-Alex turns around to look at all of them one by one, like he can’t believe he’s actually impressed them.

 

They roll the table away and throw stools around to empty the stage, and you notice stage-Alex and stage-Laurens with their arms around each other moments before stage-Laurens yells,

 

_Everybody sing!_

 

Everybody sings, encouraged by Laurens’s occasional shouts of things like “ _Let ‘em hear you!_ ” and “ _Shout it to the rooftops!_ ”

 

Alexander seems to be perplexed by this, and so are you, honestly. You would have assigned that role to Mulligan.

 

_Rise up! When you’re livin’ on your knees you rise up!_

 

Alexander appears delighted, and you nudge him and look questioningly at him.

 

_Tell your brother that he’s gotta rise up!_

 

“Laurens once wrote me a letter with almost those exact words.” You nod. You’d heard most of his received correspondences were lost, so you don’t know if the parallel is just a coincidence or if it’s deliberate.

 

_Tell your sister that she’s gotta rise up!_

 

“Oh holy shit the floor spins how are they doing that?” You shrug, and hold the microphone a little farther away from him in case he’s getting any ideas. He lunges for it anyway.

 

When you next look up, it’s because of a shift in tone of the music.

 

_I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory._

 

Yet again, Alexander is stopped short in his efforts to recapture the microphone by something happening onstage.

 

_When’s it gonna get me? In my sleep, seven feet ahead of me?_

 

He pushes himself upright using your knee, and just for that you shove him back onto the floor again.

 

_If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be?_

 

He glares at you, genuinely annoyed, and you mutter an apology and hold out a hand to help him up.

 

_Is it like a beat without a melody?_

 

He grabs the microphone.

 

_See, I never thought I’d make it past twenty!_

 

You raise an eyebrow at him.

 

_Where I come from--_

 

“Some get half as many?”

 

“Yes!” Stage-Alex points at him, evidently very excited. “ _Ask anybody why we livin’ fast, and we laugh, reach for a flask, we have to make this moment last, that’s plenty!_ ”

 

Alexander is looking at his stage version with an expression you can’t quite place.

 

_Scratch that-- this is not a moment,_

 

Oh. (Alexander is on the edge of his seat)

 

_It’s the movement!_

 

It’s how he used to look at Laurens, yet somehow more intense. (He’s watching with a focus you’ve only seen him pay to documents)

 

_Where all the hungriest brothers with somethin’ to prove went!_

 

Fucking narcissist.

 

_Foes oppose us, we take an honest stand, we roll like Moses,_

 

You nudge him, and whisper,

“You like him.”

 

_Claimin’ our promised land. And,_

 

He averts his eyes and shrugs.

“Of course. He’s talented, what isn’t to like?”

 

_If we win our independence,_

 

“You like him more than that.”

 

_Is that a guarantee of freedom for our descendants?_

 

He’s blushing.

 

_Or will the blood we shed begin an endless cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants?_

 

He lits his chin to stare you in the eye, and you see pride in his expression, as well as a refusal to back down.

 

_I know the action in the street is excitin’_

 

“I suppose I do.”

 

_But Jesus, between all the bleedin’ and fightin’ I been readin’ and writin’_

 

You nod, and so does he.

 

_We need to handle our financial situation!_

 

Alexander’s gaze snaps back to the stage, and you are probably having a little bit too much fun watching him.

 

_Are we a nation of states? What’s the state of our nation!_

 

The man you killed watches the man who pretends to be him with awe plain on his face.

 

_I’m past patiently waitin’ I’m passionately smashin’ every expectation, every action’s an act of creation!_

 

Alexander is shaking his head in disbelief and handing you the microphone.

 

_I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow!_ _For the first time I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow!_

 

As they go back into the chorus, he tries to climb up onto the stage again, and you grab his wrist, pulling him back down to ask him what he’s doing this time.

“I want to ask him something.”

“He’ll brag, it’ll be part of your legacy.” He pauses, then pulls his wrist out of your grip.

“I don’t care, my legacy is good enough already.”

“Alexander, you cannot simply interrupt the song.”

“How much would you bet on it, Burr?”

 

He clambers up onto the stage and sits right on the edge of it, leaning back and looking over his shoulder away from you to shout something you can’t quite make out at stage-Alex, who trips in the middle of a dance move but recovers quickly. Stage-Alex shakes his head, and says (it’s picked up by what you can only assume is a smaller microphone hidden somewhere on his person),

“I can’t just fuck a founding father, man.”

 

The audience cracks up, and unfortunately, it drowns out the ending of the song as Alexander climbs down from the stage and sits back down.

“I told you.” He shrugs.

“It’s strange being able to ask that way. I like this time.”

“Do you have any idea what a founding father is?”

“None whatsoever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for the record both 'antsy' and 'fuck' were in use around the time of the american revolution so there.
> 
> yo! so, if anyone has any specific things they are looking forward to, here is a list of songs i am excited about:  
> Schuyler Sisters (stage-burr's dancing is gay, do yourself a favor and look up the video on youtube)  
> Farmer Refuted (yeah lmao this one is gonna be Way Too Long)  
> Wait For It (so is this one holy shit the amount of Research(tm) i have to do for this one, it'll probably take me longer than a day. maybe three days.)  
> Dear Theodosia  
> [not a song, but the intermission between acts. one word: memes]  
> What'd I Miss  
> Cabinet Battle #1  
> The Room Where It Happens  
> Cabinet Battle #2  
> I Know Him  
> Blow Us All Away  
> Stay Alive (reprise)  
> It's Quiet Uptown  
> Your Obedient Servant  
> The World Was Wide Enough
> 
> if you are looking forward to any songs that aren't on this list, please let me know what you want them to react to! specific lines (as well as the reason you would expect a reaction) would be much appreciated! i especially need inspiration for the songs between farmer refuted and wait for it because i have almost nothing; those chapters are where im most likely to give up.
> 
> As always, i appreciate all feedback! Comments nourish me.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is way too short for how long it took me to get it posted, but I started writing Wait For It and got 1300 words in before I remembered I should be doing something else. I only meant to do some plans, and instead I'm almost all the way through the first chorus.
> 
> (Can someone please explain the 'my mother was a genius' line to me because I looked up Burr's mother and I can't find anything that fits the description of 'genius' :/)
> 
> This chapter may be dissatisfying. I'm super exhausted because I stayed up late last night to finish My Shot and I had a test today in Spanish.
> 
> However, it appears that the rest of my family is going to dinner, so once I eat I'll have a full two hours or so to write in a quiet house. I should be able to either relax enough to get my mental capacity back up to where it should be, knock out a large section of Schuyler Sisters (which I'm super excited to write), or write even more of Wait For It (which I'm... also hella excited about, whooops).
> 
> And I promise you guys that if I do end up giving up on this story before I've made it through everything that comes before Wait For It, I'll post what I have, as well as all my plans, for those who want to see them. I have so many plans. It's ridiculous.

Some transition music starts up, and the set is changed around. As the music dies back down, the scene focuses on the four stage-revolutionaries. Stage-Lafayette and stage-Laurens are sitting in chairs, while stage-Alex and stage-Mulligan are standing. Stage-Alex says,

 

_ I may not live to see our glory. _

 

The other three echo the words of stage-Alex, and Alexander sighs. You wonder when he’ll remember that you still have the microphone.

 

_ But I will gladly join the fight. _

 

Again the others repeat after him. Alexander gestures to stage-Laurens and whispers,

“I’m trying to figure out this man.”

 

_ And when our children tell our story, _

 

“What do you mean?” He shrugs.

“Just that I understand this actor about as well as I understood John. That’s all.”

 

_ They’ll tell the story of tonight. _

 

“Oh?” You turn to look at him.

 

_ Let’s have another round tonight. _

 

“Well, yes. John always managed to surprise me.”

 

_ Let’s have another round tonight. _

 

“Did he?”

 

_ Let’s have another round tonight. _

 

Stage-Laurens steps forwards, so Alexander doesn’t answer you, instead just watching.

 

_ Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away. _

 

He doesn’t comment, just nods absently and continues to listen, leaving you to wonder what is happening in his brain.

 

_ No matter what they tell you… _

 

Then he looks over at you and smiles wistfully.

“John was always thinking about freedom. He never stopped, it was continuous for him. He talked about it like he was running out of time.”

 

_ Raise a glass to the four of us, _

 

You don’t really know how to respond.

“Ah.”

 

_ Tomorrow there’ll be more of us! _

 

He sighs.

“It was as though he knew he wouldn’t live forever. All of us were so young and idealistic and overconfident, but not John. Not Lafayette as much either, but John was.. John was special. He knew he would die. He wasn’t afraid, really, he just wanted it to mean something. He wanted it to be worth it.”

 

_ Telling the story of tonight… _

 

“He didn’t think about death much, just when he got drunk. Nowhere near as much as I thought about it. He wasn’t looking so much for glory, just for someone-- even just one person-- to remember him for doing something good.”

 

_ They’ll tell the story of tonight. _

 

You didn’t know any of this about Laurens. You almost wish you had spent more time with the four of them instead of preserving your neutral reputation, because it’s only really hitting you now that you missed out on a lot.

 

_ Raise a glass to freedom, something they can never take away. _

 

“He never stopped dreaming or planning, but it wasn’t in the same way as the rest of us.”

 

_ No matter what they tell you. _

 

“He dreamed and planned because he knew one day he would be dead, and he wouldn’t be able to do anything more.”

 

_ Raise a glass to the four of us; tomorrow there’ll be more of us… _

 

Alexander sighs again and just watches. You wish you knew what he was thinking. You wish you understood him.

 

The song is repetitive and you find yourself quickly bored, even though it’s soon over. You are glad, though, when the four actors begin to walk offstage as the song winds down. Alexander elbows you a bit too hard to point at stage-Alex and stage-Laurens walking offstage with their arms around each other, and you wince and nod.

“Sorry.”

  
You still have the microphone, so you decide to forgive him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter. As always, I appreciate all the feedback I've been getting; this is actually the most I've written in four days ever, and I know for a fact that it is because of everyone's comments, so thank you. Hopefully if I keep getting attention I can finish this whole thing lmao
> 
> *crawls back into my writing cave to thumb through dictionaries, encyclopedias, and stationary catalogues*
> 
> seeya next time


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The woman onstage is not your wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you cry easily, then you might cry. No promises. Slight angst in this chapter.

The next song starts very suddenly. Both of you flinch as stage-Burr skips from the back to the front of the stage,

 

_There’s nothin’ rich folks love more than goin’ downtown and slummin’ it with the poor!_

 

Alexander is going to catch flies if he doesn’t close his mouth.

 

_They pull up in they carriages and gawk at the students in the common just to watch ‘em talk!_

 

Stage-you is saying every line very rambunctiously. You are sort of awed.

 

_Take Philip Schuyler:_

 

Alexander straightens up.

 

_The man is loaded! Uh-uh-oh, but little does he know that his daughters, Peggy, Angelica, Eliza,_

 

Stage-Burr frolicks across to the other side of the stage. Alexander holds his hand out for the microphone. You look at it for a moment and then swat it away.

 

_Sneak into the city just to watch all the guys at--_

 

Stage-Burr does a thrusting motion with his hips in some modern dance move that makes Alexander feel the need to specifically point out that your onstage counterpart has a nice bum. You don’t mind so much because it makes him forget that he wanted the microphone.

 

_Work! Work!_

 

_Angelica!_

 

Alexander’s mouth is in the shape of an O now.

 

_Eliza!_

 

He leans over and says,

“They don’t look like sisters. But dear God, Eliza is beautiful.”

 

_And Peggy!_

 

“Don’t be pedantic.”

 

_The Schuyler sisters!_

 

“Also, Alexander--”

 

_Angelica!_

 

“Try to keep in mind that--”

 

_Peggy!_

 

“The woman onstage--”

 

_Eliza!_

 

“Is not your wife.”

 

_Work!_

 

He stiffens, and you look at him meaningfully. After a moment he nods, thoroughly chastised, and looks back at the stage.

 

_Daddy said to be home by sundown!_

 

In an effort to break the tension, you say,

“This actress makes Peggy appear quite precious.”

 

_Daddy doesn’t need to know._

 

Alexander watches as stage-Laurens approaches Angelica and hands her a pamphlet of some sort.

 

_Daddy said not to go downtown!_

 

“Peggy was honestly always mischievous,”

 

_Like I said, you’re free to go!_

 

“but she put on an act so no one would expect it.”

 

_But! Look around, look around!_

 

“Nothing truly mean-spirited, mind you,

 

_The revolution’s happening in New York!_

 

“just little tricks and taunts.” Stage-Eliza and stage-Angelica move to stand on either side of stage-Peggy, who has her arms crossed and looks very pouty.

 

_New Yooooork!_

 

“There was one instance in which--”

 

_Work!_

 

He cuts himself off to listen, and you sigh in honest relief; you thought he was going to go on talking for a while. You thought you missed that, for a while, but now that he is here, and you are faced anew with the threat of his rambling, you realise that you can miss someone without missing everything about them.

 

_It’s bad enough daddy wants to go to war!_

 

Alexander sighs wistfully as stage-Eliza sings,

 

_People shouting in the square..._

 

You nudge him and raise your eyebrows, and as he opens his mouth you decide maybe you shouldn’t speak up every time he does this, just wait for a good time and address it all at once; it appears that he is about to thoroughly explain himself.

 

_It’s bad enough there’ll be violence on our shores!_

 

“I know that’s not Eliza, Burr.”

 

_New ideas in the air!_

 

“It’s just... cathartic, I suppose, in sort of a painful way, to be reminded of--”

 

_Look around, look around!_

 

He cuts himself off as stage-Eliza places a hand on her hip and her other elbow on stage-Angelica’s shoulder.

 

_Angelica, remind me what we’re looking for..._

 

He sighs again, and then continues,

“How happy she used to be. Before she knew me.”

 

_She’s looking for me!_

 

“She didn’t need me.”

 

_Eliza, I’m lookin’ for a mind at work! (work)_

 

He watches as the stage-Schuylers walk single file across the stage, and you wonder if he is crying.

 

_I’m lookin’ for a mind at work! (work)_

 

“She would have been happier without me.”

 

_I’m lookin’ for a mind at work! (work)_

 

“Alexander--” He puts a hand on your shoulder.

 

_I’m lookin’ for a mind at work! (work)_

 

“Don’t.”

 

The stage-Schuylers execute an impressive vocal sequence, and then stage-Burr lets out a whooping noise.

 

_There’s nothin’ like summer in the city,_

 

“Your children, Alexander.”

 

_Someone in a rush next to someone lookin’ pretty!_

 

“I allowed Philip to risk his life in a duel.”

 

_Excuse me, miss,_

 

“You treated him like his own man and allowed him to make his own choices.”

 

_I know it’s not funny,_

 

“You would have allowed a child of yours to do the same, then, even if you knew you might end up responsible for his death?”

 

_But your perfume smells like your daddy’s got money,_

 

You draw in a sharp breath, and close your eyes against the inadvertent reminder that your daughter’s death truly was your fault-- you could have survived without her for a while longer, and you should not have compelled her to make an ocean voyage in December-- while Hamilton takes the microphone out of your hand and shifts in his seat (you open your eyes to him twirling it once and then solidifying his grip on the handle) to put his elbow on the armrest, apparently convinced that he’s won.

 

_Why you slummin’ in the city in your fancy heels?_

 

You let out the breath you’ve been holding and then take another to crush down the guilt and regret, then another because the lump in your throat is making it hard to swallow, you swallow, hard, and blink, and breathe, and look up at the stage when the pain leaves you alone.

 

_...you disgust me!_

 

_Ah, so you’ve discussed me! I’m a trust fund--_ comma intended?-- _baby; you can trust me._

 

Alexander slaps you on the shoulder in mirth, and you laugh breathlessly along with him, swallowing down the words that your brain is generating and shoveling into your throat like coal into the boiler of a train. You refuse to say any of them. They will not help you.

 

_I been readin’ Common Sense by Thomas Paine, so men say that I’m intense or I’m insane,_

 

“So you met her before me, then.”

 

_You want a revolution, I want a revelation!_

 

You almost say _of course I met her before you, she was_ _my_ _daughter,_ and then realise he is talking about Angelica.

 

_So listen to_ _my_ _declaration!_

 

“Yes.”

 

_We hold these truths to be self-evident,_

 

“And she didn’t like you.”

 

_That all men are created equal,_

 

“Not one bit.”

 

_And when I meet Thomas Jefferson,_

 

Alexander raises an eyebrow at you in a way that honestly seems intended to provoke you.

“Rather like Washington in that respect, then, wouldn’t you say?”

 

_I’mma compel him to include women in the sequel!_

 

You swallow down the newly resurrected feelings of inadequacy that his words planted in you and say,

“Talk less, Alexander.”

 

_Work!_

 

Then, because he appears to be about to push the point, you gesture at the man who just appeared on scene and is now dancing with a book, and tell him,

“That one is you.”

 

_Look around, look around…_

 

“What!”

 

_...at how lucky we are to be alive right now…_

 

His grip on the microphone relaxes as a result of his surprise, and you see your chance.

 

_Look around, look around, at how lucky we are to be alive right now!_

 

As you casually take it from him, you say,

“You’ve always secretly wanted to bed a book, right? Maybe ‘Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire’ would be a good match. It’s certainly wordy enough. ”

 

_History is happening,_

 

He splutters as he’s reaching after the microphone, and you can breathe a little easier because teasing him doesn’t hurt as much as thinking about your faults.

 

_in Manhattan_

 

“Well, it’s also quite long.” He gives up on the microphone after a few more attempts and says, as he holds up his hand with his index and middle finger in the shape of a V,

“Burr, do you know what this means?” You shake your head.

 

_and we just happen to be_

 

“I can’t say that I do.”

 

_in the greatest city in the world_

 

“The actresses did this earlier, and I cannot figure out why.”

 

_In the greatest city in the world!_

 

“Try asking,” you say dryly, before you remember what happened the last time you said that.

“Well, give me the microphone, and I will.” You shake your head.

“No. No way.”

 

He narrows his eyes and then reaches across you in an attempt to take back the microphone, and for the rest of that song, the two of you playfully fight over it. He ends up with it when the song is over, and then you hear the familiar sound of a violin, with no percussive beats or strange chords, and look up at the stage, suddenly refreshed by the fact that finally there is some music you can recognise the style of. Alexander also appears relaxed, until you tap him on the shoulder and steal the microphone back when he looks you in the eye. He affects a betrayed expression, and you laugh.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll likely not update tomorrow, because I had a concert tonight (I'm screaming, chromatic scales will be the death of me) which means I'm posting this later so I won't be able to start on the next one before going to bed, and tomorrow I can't use my free period to write because I have to read 70 pages which I have been putting off. Just figure I should give you guys a heads up. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and you should totally comment on it ayyy


	7. this is Not farmer refuted

_July 12, 1804_

_To my good friend;  
(Aaron Burr, sir), _

_Having considered every variable in this equation, as well as the unique foresight which between us we are the only men currently alive to possess, I think it likely that I will die from this wound. Worry not-- the letter you will receive on my today (but your many years ago) still holds true._

_I hope you are doing well for yourself, but something about our encounter at 2015 Miranda Street tells me that you are not. I am unhappy as I consider this, but it seems inevitable, given the manner of my passing on and the events which led to it. You can consider all of this my fault; further explanation can be found in the paragraphs to follow._

_(As Alexander’s scribe, I think you should be made aware that the address listed does not exist anywhere in New York City, and that I consider all of this your fault; from Angelica Schuyler)_

_I will confess to having tampered with one of our two weapons; it just so happened that chance, as I could have predicted, decreed that you be the bearer of the weapon which I so carefully prepared. “But Alexander,” you likely are asking, “to what object did you direct these actions?” Well, I will tell you._

_The pistols we used did not belong to me, but rather to my brother-in-law, John Barker Church, with whom I believe you engaged in a similar quarrel back in 1799. They are cleverly designed in such a fashion as to facilitate a successful shot when certain preparations are made. (Now please do not look at this letter that way; I know what you are thinking. You believe I wanted to die. Nothing could be further from the truth. I do not want to die. However, I believe that it is worth it. If these actions truly can cause our great republic to still be in existence over 200 years from this day, it is undoubtedly a worthy cause, possibly even my duty, to give up my life in this manner. You are an honourable man, Mr. Burr. (Angelica again; you are not in any sense a man of honour) I am certain you will understand, even if you disagree with my decisions.) I made these preparations on one of the weapons, the mark of which would be a trigger that cannot be pulled forwards any further. We will designate this prepared pistol to be Weapon A. If, on the dueling ground yesterday, I had found myself the bearer of Weapon A, I would still have aimed at the sky, you would likely have missed (I hope this statement is not a severe enough slight to warrant another duel, as if you consider it so, we may encounter some slight logistical difficulties), and I would have consented to meet life full on._

_However, fate is either unkind or deterministic, and I did not end up bearing Weapon A. My heart faltered almost perceptibly when I realised this fact, and the small amount of hope I had been holding out that maybe all of it was simply a ridiculous fantasy vanished as the sun slowly rose into the sky. It is difficult to remain unbending in my convictions when your asshole (I must admit, I am rather fond of many of these ‘future words’) current self has no recollections of our twenty-first century reconciliation. (Angelica is looking at me as though I am going mad. I have not quite the wherewithal to withstand this lack of understanding tacking ‘cross the embossed surface of my cursèdly withdrawn almost-gone consciousness, so I will likely finish this up rather more quickly than I would have otherwise.)_

_I apologise for the distress which the events of my yesterday have caused you through all of these years. I hold in my heart even more remorse, though, for using your daughter as a means of conveyance, as I am perfectly aware that there is quite a lot more in her heart and mind than that; from how you spoke of her roughly four years ago (but almost a negative amount of years, if we are really counting properly), I would gather that she is quite intelligent, a woman of great character and still greater lineage (I am referring all at once to your mother and father, as well as you and your grandfather)._

_Please find Eliza for me and tell her everything. Tell her I am touched by her efforts. (Angelica is writing this for me and looking meaningfully at me, and I am almost tempted to request of her the true story of your first meeting; however, I have more important subjects on which I must pontificate at current, and I intend to do so directly.) Tell Eliza she is more than I would have ever guessed I was allowed to have, and that I am sorry for everything. Tell her we will meet again in God’s Heavenly Kingdom, that I believe in her wholeheartedly, and that I support all of her choices regarding her legacy (because truly, it is hers; she has done more for my memory than I have even thought of or considered, and I am the one who writes as though I am “runnin’ outta time,” if you will)._

_And I have run out of time, in more sense than one;_

_Angelica informs me she will only humor this ‘ridiculous digression’ for forty or so more words, so best to be safe and finish now. I’ve missed you in these four years. We will meet again; I know not where I go, but I am certain you will end up there as well._

_I have the honour to be your sole partner in this farcical fox-trot with fate,  
A. Hamilton _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm way too proud of the fact that from "...or so more words" to "...end up there as well" is _exactly_ forty words.
> 
> If you guys have any feedback, I am always eager to hear what you think. Additionally, I am searching for someone to help me in writing this story. The requirements would be:  
> \- have an AO3 account  
> \- be able to use google docs  
> \- Do Not divulge story details before chapters are posted  
> \- dont delete the whole document lmao cus then its kind of a hassle going back into the revision history and getting back all 36 pages sooo  
> \- put up with me (but thats sort of a given ig)
> 
> You wouldn't have to commit to the entire story, but that will probably be a factor for consideration if multiple people express interest. Whoever is chosen will be added as a co-author on this story or something; I'm not entirely sure how that function works yet.
> 
> EDIT: I probably should have made this more clear at first, but I'm more looking for sort of a beta than for someone to write actual whole chapters. I say 'sort of' a beta because ideally it'd be more collaborative than me just writing and the person checking it over. I'm talking checking out my ideas and plans, coming up with their own ideas, saying what makes sense or doesn't; i still want to write the chapters myself, but it would be nice if someone else helped out with planning. 
> 
> For example, let's pretend Never Gonna Give You Up is in Hamilton and that Alexander sings it to Eliza. Let's also pretend I hate that song and don't have any idea what I'm going to write for that chapter. I would say, 'hey lol so ive got no cluuuue what to do here but if you can like. tell me about feelings and the lines that make those feelings happen ill totally write it lmao' which is why I feel like this would be closer to a co-author than a beta, because in those cases, it'd be less of me saying 'this is my thing howd i do' and more of the person saying 'so itd be cool if this happened at some point' and me goin 'hmmm i might be able to do that'
> 
> Also I have two potential plans for Farmer Refuted and I'm not stalling because oh man I wanted to put this here anyway, but I have no concept whatsoever of how much sense they make so that's why I'm asking about this now I suppose.


	8. Farmer Refuted Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so everybody knows, I do plan to do every single song. The list earlier was just a list of the songs that I knew I would try my best on. Yes, I will do the Laurens Interlude. I hope that alleviates any concerns you all may have had; I probably should have made my meaning more clear when I gave you guys that list.

Another man, holding a scroll of paper, walks onto the stage and steps up onto a wooden box.

 

_Hear ye, hear ye! My name is Samuel Seabury,_

 

Alexander snorts in derision.

 

_And I present free thoughts on the proceedings of the Continental Congress._

 

Stage-Alexander is looking at stage-Seabury with an affronted look on his face.

 

_Heed not the rabble who scream “revolution!”_

 

Alexander’s mouth falls open, and you have to resist the impulse to remind him that he is simply watching a reenactment; after what happened when you did that during the last song, you think you’d rather choose to wait until he’s about to make a scene.

 

_They have not your interests at heart._

 

Stage-Alexander’s arms are crossed, and he’s glaring now. Stage-Mulligan puts an arm around him.

 

_Oh my god, tear this dude apart._

 

It might be a good idea to take the microphone back from him soon. You decide to simply modify your posture slightly such that you’ll be able to react quickly if Alexander attempts to climb up onstage.

 

_Chaos and bloodshed are not a solution;_

 

You notice stage-Burr subtly positioning himself between stage-Alexander and stage-Seabury. Great minds think alike, you suppose.

 

_Don’t let them lead you astray!_

 

You glance back at Alexander, who appears just as affronted as his onstage counterpart. He’s gripping the microphone so hard that his fingernails are white.

 

Stage-Alexander begins walking towards stage-Seabury during the next line, and you notice Alexander raising the microphone to his mouth.

 

_This Congress does not speak for me!_

 

You put a hand on his wrist and shoot him a warning look.

 

_Let him be._

 

Stage-Burr stops stage-Alex with one hand on his shoulder and another on his crossed arms. Alexander purses his lips and lowers the microphone. You let your shoulders relax in relief.

 

_They’re playing a dangerous game._

 

Stage-Alex backs up slowly, staring at the floor and fidgeting as he unwillingly retreats.

 

_I pray the king shows you his mercy._

 

Alexander attempts to stand, but you calm him down with a hushed whisper of,

“Alexander, you proved him wrong, and so will they.” He concedes and sits back down. Stage-Burr backs up at this line, probably deciding that, since he won’t be able to restrain stage-Alexander now that stage-Seabury has said that, he may as well remove himself from the line of fire so that he will not be associated with what stage-Alexander is about to say-- because stage-Alexander is definitely on the verge of saying _something_.

 

_For shame, for shame...._

 

You notice stage-Alexander muttering inaudibly under his breath, composing a retort. Alexander is seething next to you, so you nudge him and point it out. He furrows his brow and nods.

 

Stage-Alex takes a few large steps towards stage-Seabury and takes a deep breath as stage-Seabury prepares to repeat himself.

 

_Yah! He’d have you all unravel at the sound of screams..._

 

Alexander’s jaw drops, and honestly, you are also impressed. Stage-Seabury steps down from his box and pushes it in front of stage-Alex, who puffs himself up and begins stepping around stage-Seabury and bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet like a puppy.

 

_But the revolution is coming!_

 

There’s an interesting drive in the rhythm on that line that punctuates stage-Alexander’s words nicely. The emphasis falls in strange places.

 

_They have not your interests at--_

 

You don’t quite catch what stage-Alexander says during that line.

 

_...hard to listen to you with a straight face!_

 

Alexander lets out a surprised “ha!” at that, and you find that you are also grinning.

 

_Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us, honestly you shouldn’t even talk..._

 

You can’t understand either of them for a few lines.

 

_...all that we’ve lost and you talk about Congress!_

 

Alexander is captivated next to you.

 

_...does not speak for-- my DOG speaks more eloquently!_

 

“Wow.” His eyes are shining.

 

_They’re playing a dangerous g-- strangely your mange is the same!_

 

Alexander chokes on air, and turns to you, presumably to check if you are seeing this. You are definitely seeing this.

 

_I pray the king shows you his mercy!_

 

Stage-Seabury draws his hand across his neck in a “off with his head” gesture as he says the word “mercy” and stage-Alexander raises his hand, about to make a point.

 

_Is he in Jersey?_

 

Stage-Seabury turns around towards stage-Alex and shouts,

 

_For shame!_

 

Stage-Alexander counters with,

 

_For the revolution!_

 

_For shaaaaaaaame!_

 

Everyone else repeats “ _For the revolution!_ ” again, and stage-Alexander runs up to stand on the rather small box with Seabury, who raises the song into a higher pitch and speeds up slightly.

 

_Heed--_

 

_If you repeat yourself again I’m gonna scream!_

 

Stage-Alex puts his hand in front of the scroll from which stage-Seabury is trying to read.

 

_Honestly, look at me, please don’t read!_

 

Stage-Seabury shoves stage-Alexander back.

 

_Not your interests--_

 

Stage-Alex grabs onto stage-Seabury’s arm and pulls himself back up as he says the next line.

 

_Don’t modulate the key then not debate with me!_

 

You notice stage-Burr walking back onto the scene.

 

_Why should a tiny island across the sea regulate the price of tea?_

 

He grabs stage-Alexander by the arm and makes him step off of the box.

 

_Alexander, please--_

 

_Burr, I’d rather be divisive than indecisive, drop the niceties!_

 

Alexander wiggles his eyebrows at you, and you roll your eyes.

 

_Silence!_

 

He stands up, and you realise you forgot to take the microphone away from him.

 

_A message from the king!_

 

“Hey, hey wait.” The fanfare drops off in the middle, sounding pathetic as everyone cuts themselves off at Alexander’s insistence. “Do that again.”

 

You sort of want to scream.

“Alexander, please--”

“It was good, I want to hear it again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm splitting this chapter up into two parts because I still have some fiddly details I want to work out with the rest of it and I figure you guys deserve an update, since it is Halloween and all.
> 
> I haven't made any choices yet as far as a beta goes, but I am thinking on it. That's why I haven't replied to some comments yet; I want to make sure they stay listed as unread in my inbox so I can't forget anyone.
> 
> I might try to make a decision between now and next chapter, depending on if I can make a certain narrative choice on my own. Sighs. 
> 
> As you may have guessed from the previous chapter, there will be more to this story than just the reactions of Hamilton and Burr to the songs. I hope it will eventually become clear why I put a letter in which Alexander mentions how grateful he is for Eliza's existence (in this story, I mean, it obviously wasn't an actual letter that he wrote for real) directly after Schuyler Sisters, the song which introduces Eliza for the first time and also establishes her as the most important sister by giving her the focal note of the melody.......... hint, hint.
> 
> Last chapter was a break from the primary narrative. It was a letter dictated to Angelica by Alexander as he sat in a bed dying the day after the duel (July 12, 1804), which would have been around three-four years after he was returned to his original time after watching the musical with Burr. That is when it was _written_ , in story time. It was first read between 1820 and 1836-- that's all I can tell you right now without compromising my storyline. I hope that helps if anyone was confused.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Don't forget to leave a comment if you liked it!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew. This chapter took forever. It took forever because  
> \- I've been coping with a break-up after over two years of dating; a lot of angsty poetry has been written. *turns up the volume on my evanescence or however the fuck you spell it* tl;dr im emo now  
> \- School is kicking my ass. I'm writing this instead of a paper on Jacksonian Democracy, because fuck Andrew Jackson. (screeches because im descended from him)  
> \- I'm having trouble with writing because I have around 90 chapters planned and that scares the hell out of me. I'm afraid, and getting vague anxiety about not finishing or not doing good enough (purposeful grammar error for dramatic effect), and. Yeah. 
> 
> i just calculated how much of this story ive written so far and. ive written around 10% (counting chapters that havent been posted yet). the google doc im writing it in is 50 pages so far. im screaming. life isnt real.
> 
> Oh also I chose a beta and like. Hell I should probably wait for them to check this chapter out but they haven't been online much recently and I'm an impatient piece of shit when I have stuff to post.

They repeat Seabury’s song while Alexander watches from the side of the stage, concentration etched on his face (he’s alive). From the way he appears frustrated, you don’t think he’s understood much more than he did the first time, and neither did you. He interrupts in the middle this time, and gestures at stage-Alexander, saying,

“Would you be willing to perform your part alone once through?”

“Of course!” Stage-Alexander beams at Alexander Prime in a way that leaves you with the distinct impression that he’s been itching for someone to appreciate this song; it’s probably quite overlooked, considering it occurs just before what you can only hope is a song poking liberal amounts of fun at King George III. You will honestly be quite disappointed if Americans have already given up the practice of cracking jokes at the expense of the British just 200 years after the war was won. Disparaging England has been one of your only high points in the 30 or so years since you killed Hamilton.

 

The stage is cleared, and stage-Alexander stands in the middle of it. He begins reciting the song alone, with no musical accompaniment. Stage-Seabury does his thing, but his voice isn’t magnified anymore like stage-Alexander’s. You can hear what he is saying, but it serves mostly to remind where they are in the song, and doesn’t make stage-Alexander’s words indecipherable.

 

_ He’d have you all unravel at the sound of screams, but the revolution is coming! _

 

Alexander is nodding along, brow furrowed as he watches. The words ring out across the theatre.

 

_ The have-nots are gonna win this, it’s hard to listen to you with a straight face! Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us, honestly you shouldn’t even talk,  _

 

You wonder how long it took them to put this song together; almost every word lines up somehow with what you can barely hear stage-Seabury saying.

 

_ and what about Boston? Look at the cost, and all that we’ve lost! And you talk about Congress?! _

 

Alexander interrupts,

“Ah, that’s clever. I like that.” You have no idea what he’s talking about, and you must make it clear with body language somehow that you’re confused, because he takes it upon himself to say, “I stop rhyming with him on the word ‘astray’ and then-- Er, that is, me-onstage stops rhyming at ‘astray’ and starts again at ‘Congress,’ which is a rather inventive and pleasing-- almost oblique, even-- use of the language to portray --”

“I understand.” He shoots you a dirty look, hypocritically put out at your interruption.

“I haven’t finished --”

 

Stage-Alexander apparently decides to just continue the song, and Alexander goes quiet to listen. You don’t think he’s ever done that before for someone with no authority over him.

 

_ My dog speaks more eloquently! _

 

Alexander’s lips are pursed, and oh dear God he has that look on his face again like he’s considering denouncing them,

 

_ But strangely your mange is the same-- _

 

“My good man!” Alexander stands. “Is it impossible, then, in this future, to resolve disputes in a civil manner instead of resorting to casual mockery?”

Stage-Alexander has an are-you-serious look on his face.

“Uh, dude, you died in a duel, don’t lecture me about civil resolution of--”

“I trust that Senator Burr and I both took the most honourable paths available to us at the time--”

“Alexander--”

“What do you want, Burr?!” You hold out your hand for the microphone, and he reluctantly hands it to you.

“I believe-- and correct me if I am misrepresenting your intentions,” you nod at stage-Alexander-- “that the mockery is included to more clearly display the inevitability of the Revolution at that point in time; you might remember what I said to you then, and I still believe that you truly didn’t need to refute him. His arguments were moot. This stage version of you mocks Seabury because his arguments refute themselves.”

 

Stage-Alexander walks to the edge of the stage and holds out his hand palm up.

“High five.” You look at it, brow furrowed, and then at Alexander, who shrugs.

“I still think that you could have at least included more references to my response, no matter how much I may have mocked Seabury’s old age in my own thoughts.”

“These Americans are smart enough to see for themselves why Seabury is wrong, Mr. Hamilton.”

 

Alexander pauses, and it’s pretty obvious that he isn’t ready to concede this argument. You wish he would calm himself down occasionally.

“You can continue to the next song now. A message from the king, was it? Ironic, considering he spurned our appeal and sided with parliament without sending us any sort of written message.”

 

He seems determined to tear down every line for the rest of the show, which is annoying, since earlier he was put out that they portrayed things correctly.

“I’d like to commend you on the line about Jersey,” you say, “as there are quite a lot of us who would have willingly gone to hell for a chance to shoot the king in a duel.” Alexander looks at you in mild shock.

“Burr? I’m surprised to hear you speak of death so flippantly.”

“If I make every joke before other people have the chance to do it for me, no one can catch me off guard.”

“Well, what sorts of jokes are people making?”

“Why did Burr lose the presidential election?”

He considers that for a moment, and then shakes his head. “Why?”

“He got bullets and ballots confused.” 

 

There’s scattered laughter in the audience, like they don’t know if they are supposed to or not. Alexander appears perplexed.

“It’s funny because I planned to commit fraud and falsify the vote count.”

He looks sharply at you and says, indignant, “Then it’s no wonder I dueled you!”

“That was also a joke. But that one I stole from someone else, I’ll admit.” The people do laugh this time, and you would feel gratified if you weren’t talking about the destruction of your political career and the death of one of your good friends.

“Goodness. Alright. You can go on, by the way,” he says to stage-Alexander. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If that ending seems jarring and sort of off-balance, that's good, because that's what I was going for.
> 
> As always, I appreciate your feedback! Thank you all for waiting so long. I'm probably going to keep on having trouble writing; the past eleven days or so it's felt like any words I put together don't seem to fit, and it hasn't gotten a lot better. Comments really do help me write when I'm feeling down; I have a screenshot of one of them set as my phone background right now.
> 
> Question: Would anyone check it if I had a page of some sort to put my progress on? Where I could say what chapters I've started for those who are curious, how far I've gotten through the next chapter, what songs I have ideas for, etc.?
> 
> EDIT: [I have made a progress page. Please check it out if you have the time, there are jokes.](http://pastebin.com/LGg4FpK8)
> 
> EDIT 2: [I have made a chatroom because I'm a lonely little author drago hoarding attention and love or something and also I'm impulsive and want to talk to you guys,, if you join be sure to read the entirety of the welcome message](http://us20.chatzy.com/24995159035198)


	10. What else is there to do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IMPORTANT: Take the time to read over this quick excerpt from an earlier chapter, as it becomes important again here.
> 
> “Your children, Alexander.”  
> “I allowed Philip to risk his life in a duel.”  
> “You treated him like his own man and allowed him to make his own choices.”  
> “You would have allowed a child of yours to do the same, then, even if you knew you might end up responsible for his death?”  
> You draw in a deep breath, and close your eyes against the inadvertent reminder that your daughter’s death truly was your fault-- you could have survived without her for a while longer, and you should not have compelled her to make an ocean voyage in December-- while Hamilton takes the microphone out of your hand and shifts in his seat (you open your eyes to him twirling it once and then solidifying his grip on the handle) to put his elbow on the armrest, apparently convinced that he’s won.
> 
> Additionally, I’ll be changing the title of this story to “If This Bullet” after I post the next chapter. I also plan to revamp the summary. I want to include an excerpt (from any chapter) that accurately represents the more serious tone that this story will eventually have. If any of you have favourite parts that you think would work in a summary, feel free to let me know in a comment!

They pick back up with the fanfare, and again proclaim about a message from the king. You are on the edge of your seat. The man they have playing King George III smiles simperingly at the crowd as piano chords accentuate his every step. Life again has meaning and the world itself seems brighter. Your purpose has been restored. Laugh at Britain, sleep, repeat.

 

_You say…_

 

You snort just at these first two words; the man looks so forlorn.

 

_The price of my love’s…_

 

What.

 

_...not a price that you’re willing to pay…_

 

You hear quiet giggles from around you, and then look at Alexander, whose mouth has fallen open comically. You will probably be glad later that you have the microphone, so he will have a harder time interrupting what is sure to be a masterpiece of classic American comedy.

 

_You cry,_

 

“No I don’t!” Alexander looks quite put out. At least you have the microphone, you remind yourself.

 

... _in your tea that you hurl in the sea when you see me go by..._

 

He quietly says, “Oh,” and then bursts out laughing.

 

_Why so sad?_

 

The king frowns in a grossly exaggerated manner, and Alexander makes a wheezing sound of mirth. You feign concern, and he elbows you.

 

_Remember we made an arrangement when you went away,_

 

Alexander stops laughing to grab at the microphone, and says, “It was a sorry excuse for an arrangement--” You pull the microphone away-- “if I ever saw one!”

 

The King looks directly at Hamilton as he says the next line:

 

_Now you’re making me mad!_

 

You laugh, and Alexander puts on an offended act.

 

...On second thought, he probably isn’t just acting. Fuck.

 

_Remember despite our estrangement, I’m your man…_

 

And then Alexander’s mouth falls open.

“...What?”

 

_You’ll be back._

 

“Oh my god. I’ll fight him. I’ll actually fight--”

“You already did, Alexander.”

 

_Soon you’ll see_

 

“...Oh. And we won, didn’t we.” You nod, and he grins.

 

_You’ll remember you belong to me,_

 

You have to grab his arm and tug hard to get him to sit back down, which isn’t exactly easy on your back, and you tell him so.

“I’m getting old, Alexander, I don’t have the energy to supervise you.”

“I don’t need your supervision, Burr!”

“That’s a laughable claim.”

“Well, you are certainly entitled to your opinion. However, here is where you are wrong; firstly, you’ll find, if you even bother to examine the subject--”

 

_...I will send a fully armed battalion to remind you of my love!_

 

Holy hell, that’s hilarious. The king starts singing the same syllable repeatedly, giving you time to crack up, and Alexander time to steal the microphone from you. You glare at him, and reach after it, but before you can get it back, the stage-king sings,

 

_You say our love is draining and you can’t go on!_

 

This is priceless. Alexander is frowning. He looks down at you where you've draped yourself across his lap in your attempts to get the mic, and says,

“That’s quite a high note, there.” You nod.

 

_You’ll be the one complaining when I am gone!_

 

This song is written far more simply than the other songs so far, and from the advanced constructions you noticed in the others, you think it likely that that was intentional. You sit back up.

 

The stage-king pulls an arm out from under his cape to point into the audience as he shouts the next line.

 

_And no! Don’t change the subject!_

 

Alexander flinches, which. Makes you hopeful that there won’t be any songs with canons as  percussion (thanks, Tchaikovsky).

 

_‘Cus you’re my favourite subject,_

 

Because of an immense feeling of dread that settles itself in your bones on that line, you reach over quickly and take the microphone from Alexander, who makes a noise that can only be described as a squawk.

 

_My sweet, submissive subject,_

 

Taking the microphone was a good idea, because Alexander just sat up ramrod straight. He’s glaring at the actor with a hatred that could probably transcend all of the Powers That Be.

 

_My loyal, royal subject,_

 

“I’m going to duel him.” You heave a sigh, and turn to him to try and talk some sense into him.

“Alexander--”

“How would I acquire a set of dueling pistols in this time period--”

 

_You’ll be back, like before._

 

“Duel the man who wrote it, Alexander, not he who performs it.”

 

_I will fight the fight and win the war_

 

“Burr--”

 

_For your love, for your praise…_

 

“Alexander, I would guess that dueling is no longer legal.” You have no real clue about dueling in this time, you just want him to shut up.

 

_And I’ll love you ‘til my dying days!_

 

He grumbles and faces back towards the stage, thank goodness, because you were getting annoyed about missing parts of the song.

 

_When you’re gone, I’ll go mad!_

 

Your jaw drops, and you hear a disbelieving laugh leave your mouth. Hamilton elbows you.

“What is it?”

 

_So don’t throw away this thing we had…_

 

“He actually did go mad. Back in 1810, I believe. His daughter Amelia, who was considered a sign of new hope upon her birth in 1783, died. About three years before-- before Theodosia, come to think of it.”

“Oh… Theodosia is dead?” You don’t want to talk about this, so you just drop your arm around Alexander’s shoulders and point onstage, where the king has begun to wiggle his shoulders in time with the music,

“Look.” Alexander grins, but then turns back to you, a very serious look on his face, and says,

“I apologise for my earlier insensitivity, during the song about Eliza, Peggy, and Angelica; if you’ll remember, you said--”

“It’s alright, Alexander.” You’ve learned to be quick to forgive, if not to forget.

“It wasn’t. It should have occurred to me that you have had your fair share of heartbreaks and tragedies--”

“In that case, I forgive you.” _What else is there to do,_ you silently add.

 

 _Nothing_. There is nothing else to do. You have tried every other option, and none of them lead anywhere good.

  
The king walks off the stage, and Alexander steals the microphone back. So it goes, you suppose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I know the 1812 overture was written in 1880, but it was too good to pass up, especially since there are canon sounds in the Very Next Song. Also thinking all about Burr hating Tchaikovsky’s guts helped me get inspired enough to write this chapter. So I’m taking some liberties.
> 
> ALSO!! This story now has a [chatroom](http://us20.chatzy.com/24995159035198) (no registration necessary)! I’ll be online for about an hour after I post this chapter, if you want to come in and talk to me (please)!
> 
> And I have made a [pastebin](http://pastebin.com/LGg4FpK8) to put my progress in (including progress on chapters in the distant future), so that you guys can check it out to see what’s up if I take forever to post. 
> 
> I do want to point out that any chapter with a title is likely an Important Chapter, and that the title of said chapter also matters.
> 
> As always, I thrive on thoughtful comments. Thank you all so much for your feedback so far. I do try to reply to every comment, even though it takes me a while.


	11. Right hand man part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this story has been changed to If This Bullet.
> 
> this is only half of the chapter, because im very unmotivated at the moment, and i really want feedback. i figure half a chapter is better than no chapter.
> 
> happy holidays nerds

There’s a short interlude in which a member of the ensemble acts out a death at the hands of two redcoats while a drum is played. And then suddenly, every member of the cast is onstage. The lights are dim and tinted blue. 

 

_ British Admiral Howe’s got troops on the water. _

 

You remember the lead up to this battle, and, well, if these people did their research... 

 

_...thirty-two thousand troops in New York harbor... _

 

The war is starting. You take a deep breath and brace yourself. 

 

_ Thirty-two thousand troops in New York harbor! _

 

This will be difficult to sit through, whether they portray it realistically and it brings back memories, or they completely botch it and you can’t hold back cringes. 

 

_...when they surround our troops... _

 

The chorus is giving you gooseflesh with this layering in the introduction. You look over at Alexander. The expression on his face is solemn. 

 

_ when they surround our troops, _

 

The chorus stops abruptly, and then everyone but the four stage-revolutionaries and your stage self runs offstage. 

 

_ As a kid in the Caribbean I wished for a war, _

 

Stage-Alexander stands center-stage as he says the line, with the other revolutionaries around him. You notice a quite nice-sounding cello line in the background of the song. Alexander grumbles about “damn people reading private correspondence between friends.”

 

_ I knew that I was poor, I knew it was the only way to rise up _

 

Alexander frowns, and you’d guess he’s not exactly pleased with his stage counterpart’s talking about his childhood dreams.

 

_ If they tell my story, _

 

That line sounds a lot like Alexander. Stage-Burr walks over and hands stage-Alex a coat, which he puts on. The other three walk over to stand around stage-Alex like disciples.

 

_ I am either gonna die on the battlefield in glory or rise up! _

 

“This is unbearable, I asked him not to speak of this but it never occurred to me to request that he destroy the letter.”

 

_ We will fight for this land, but there’s only one man who can give us a command, _

 

“I haven’t even the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

 

_ So we can rise up! Understand? _

 

Alexander decides to take your statement as an invitation to elaborate instead of a request to shut up and stop drowning out the song, and explains,

“I wrote a letter to a friend of mine saying most of this and asked him not to speak of it to others, specifically because I didn’t want anyone else to know.” You try to listen to what the actors are saying instead of him, but he is closer to you and also far more insistent on being heard.

 

_...Here he comes. _

 

You don’t answer, instead turning back to the stage in slight annoyance, where stage-you has taken center as others chant,

 

_ Here comes the General! _

 

Washington. Alexander tenses beside you. Your stage self theatrically introduces him, ostensibly still enthusiastic, having not yet been spurned.

 

_ Ladies and gentlemen! _

 

Alexander is on the edge of his seat, entirely ready to form an opinion and defend it loudly and vehemently.

 

_ The moment you’ve been waiting for! _

 

“The microphone, Alexander.”

 

_ The pride of Mt. Vernon! _

 

He shakes his head, and you see a man who probably is stage-Washington near the back, not facing the audience.

 

_ George Washington! _

 

The man turns around, and, sheathing a sword, yells,

 

_ We are outgunned! _

 

Alexander flinches. The rest of the company onstage shouts, in accompaniment,

 

_ What! _

 

Oh dear. This song is going to be a loud one, you can already tell, and Alexander looks annoyed. Uh oh.

 

_ Outmanned! _

 

You suppose it’s intended to describe the extreme disadvantage that the continental army was at, or possibly the chaos of the war, but it seems to also be glorifying the bloodshed. You aren’t a stranger to glorifying murder (ahem), but when you do it, it’s mainly so that you can bring it up on your own terms, and because if you don’t joke about being a bloodthirsty murder-anarchist, someone else will do it for you, and you’re a lot better at puns than the average Hamiltonian.

 

_ What! _

 

You wish they would stop shouting. All it does is make you want them to shut up.

 

_ Outnumbered, outplanned! _

 

The ensemble members say some loud gibberish. There are parts of this ‘musical’ that you very much enjoy, and still other parts that you doubt you’ll ever understand. This fits the latter description.

 

_ We’ve gotta make an all out stand! _

 

Alexander is bouncing his leg. You nudge him and shoot him a dirty look. He pulls a face and continues tapping. You feel a strange urge to punch him.

 

_ And yo, I’m gonna need a right hand man! _

 

Alexander smirks at you, and you just sigh without responding. If he is going to be petty and  immature about this, over 200 years afterwards, so will you. You can bide your time, though.

 

_ Can I be real a second? For just a millisecond? _

 

“What the hell is a millisecond,” Hamilton mutters, completely deadpan.

 

_ Let down my guard and tell the people how I feel a second? _

 

“It’s like a normal second, but peculiar to the military,” you tell him, in an informative tone, acting like it became common knowledge at some point after his death, when really this is the first time you’ve heard it before in your life.

 

_ Now I’m the model of a modern major general, _

 

Washington was a full general, not a major general.

 

_ The venerated Virginian veteran _

 

“Really?” Alexander asks, after pausing for a moment to consider your answer.

 

_ Whose men are all linin’ up! To put me up on a pedestal, _

 

“No, I made that up.” He elbows you.

 

_ Writin’ letters to relatives embellishing my elegance and eloquence, _

 

“I’m enjoying these rhymes,” Hamilton comments, and you nod without replying.

 

_ But! The elephant is in the room, _

 

“What.”

 

_ The truth is in your face when you hear the British cannons… _

 

Oh dear.

 

_...go BOOM! _

 

It’s punctuated with an actual canon. What the hell. Both you and Alexander flinch out of your seats. Alexander puts a hand to his chest and breathes heavily, and you… Well, you are taken back to the Battle of Quebec, December… Or was it January? Cold, it was cold. The snow was blinding, and it was a struggle to keep moving, even though every step felt like falling forwards and then barely catching yourself when your foot hit the ground just inches in front of the other. The wind held you up, almost, as you leaned into it and worked your way down the steep incline towards the city’s outer defenses after Montgomery. 

 

Almost no one got out alive, and you saw Montgomery fall. The ringing wouldn’t leave your ears for several hours.

 

_...put a stop to the bleeding... _

 

You open your eyes and just sort of look around for a moment before focusing on Alexander. He’s still clutching his chest, eyes dazed, breathing hard. You realise you aren’t breathing and have some fun holding your breath (because honestly, it doesn’t feel like you  _ really _ have to breathe) for a count to twenty before you get bored of that and breathe in to say something to him.

 

_...Outgunned! _

 

Alexander blinks suddenly, and shudders all over.

 

_ Outmanned! _

 

“Alexander?”

 

_ Outnumbered, outplanned! _

 

He takes a deep breath.

 

_ We gotta make an all out stand! _

 

“I’m. I’m alright.”

 

_ Heyo, I’m gonna need a right hand man! _

 

You turn your attention back to the stage, still feeling rather shaky. You can only hope they don’t do anything else with cannons. Come to think of it, you don’t see any cannons anywhere on the scene. Most likely they have a way to imitate cannon noises without a real cannon. Tchaikovsky would be delighted.

 

_ Incoming! _

 

Stage-Hamilton appears on the scene, followed by stage-Mulligan.

 

_ They’re battering down the battery, check the damages, _

 

Alexander is smirking, his eyebrows wiggling in time with the beat. He looks hilarious, and you laugh at him.

 

_ We gotta stop’m an’ rob’m of their advantages! _

 

His eyes light up. He doesn’t notice you cracking up.

“The cannons,” he murmurs. 

 

_ Let’s take a stand with the stamina God has granted us, _

 

You take the opportunity to steal the microphone from him, and it’s because of the affronted look on his face that you can’t stop laughing. This makes you especially susceptible to his counterattack, wherein he lunges for the microphone and you are forced to surrender it to him.

 

_ Hamilton won’t abandon ship, _

 

He smirks smugly at you and turns haughtily back to the stage, where the modern Hamilton is practically bouncing up and down on the balls of his feet in excitement.

 

_ Yo! Let’s steal their cannons! _

 

You can’t help bracing yourself for a loud noise, and then just when you think you were being silly and start to sit back up straight…

 

_ BOOM! _

 

Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have made a tumblr for this story! It's right [here!](http://coralflower-ao3.tumblr.com)  
> I should be online in the [chatzy](http://us20.chatzy.com/24995159035198) almost all day, so that's cool! Please please please come in and talk to me.
> 
> EDIT: the tumblr is now my general purpose fanfic blog
> 
> Stuff I've written in the meantime that you should totally look at:  
> [9000 words of trashy jamilton smut (explicit rating)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8805547)  
> [612 words of angsty lams breakup stuff, where eliza isnt demonised. G rated.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8858878)
> 
> Please leave a comment if you liked this! and I'm interested to hear any theories on why I have roughly 90 chapters planned when there are less than 50 songs in the soundtrack :3  
> (@ anonymous reviewers: I'm going to go ahead and reply to your comments too, so if youre interested to read what i have to say, you can check that out :]! )


	12. Right Hand Man Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recap from previous chapter:
> 
> You can’t help bracing yourself for a loud noise, and then just when you think you were being silly and start to sit back up straight…
> 
>  
> 
> _BOOM!_
> 
>  
> 
> Fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, I can't believe I haven't posted anything since 2016! :O ;D
> 
> Also, I've consistently forgotten to thank my wonderful beta, [My_dearest_comma_Laurens](http://archiveofourown.org/users/My_dearest_comma_Laurens/pseuds/My_dearest_comma_Laurens). They've been an enourmous help getting chapters ready to post, and I should have mentioned them sooner.
> 
> I don't have any more to say here, so without further ado, I present to you hte chaptper yuove been waitign for

_...goes the cannon, watch the blood and the shit spray… _

 

It’s hard to focus on where you are, but you can feel the arm of the seat and then Hamilton’s hand brushes yours and you flinch yourself back into reality. 

 

_ and _

 

There is very apparent pain on Alexander’s face.

 

_ BOOM! _

 

Goddamn. They just do not stop, do they. You notice, in a sort of detached way, that there’s blood in your mouth.

 

_...goes the cannon, we’re abandoning Kip’s Bay, and… _

 

You’re holding on very tightly to the armrests. You swallow and unclench your teeth, probing the self-inflicted accidental wound in your cheek with your tongue. It’ll heal.

 

_ BOOM! _

 

Alexander grabs onto your elbow and you almost sock him in the face in your shock. You manage to keep from doing so, barely, but you bite down on your tongue without thinking about it. Ouch.

 

... _ there’s another ship… _

 

You remember, some other British ships appeared in the waters around Manhattan just to scare the rebel army. That was a dirty trick.

 

_ BOOM! _

 

You are getting very fed up with these sudden loud noises. Your mouth has suffered enough injuries for a lifetime in under a minute. Alexander also appears on edge. 

 

 _We just lost the southern tip_ _and_

 

_ BOOM! _

 

You resolve that if there is one more boom in this song you will get up and walk out, since Alexander seems about to start clinging onto you for comfort. 

 

_ We gotta run to Harlem quick, we can’t afford another slip… _

 

It was your idea to retreat down through Harlem.  _ Your _ idea. You saved an entire battalion from capture.

 

_ Guns and horses, giddyup, I decide to divvy up my forces, _

 

Hamilton and you both wince in preparation for another cannon noise, but it doesn’t come. And then the two of you look at each other and you laugh at the look on his face.

 

_ They’re skittish as the British cut the city up, _

 

You take the microphone out of Hamilton’s hands to distract yourself from your bitterness. Not a single mention of your role, but you suppose you shouldn’t really be surprised. You knew what you would be getting into when you shot him. Your legacy is not your accomplishments, but the biggest mistake you ever made.

 

_ This close to giving up, facing mad scrutiny, _

 

He reaches after it, distractedly, most of his focus on the stage.

 

_ I scream in the face of this mass mutiny: _

 

Stage-Washington removes his hat, and Hamilton tenses next to you. You know what is about to be said, and you know that Alexander took it personally. He stops trying to take the microphone back.

 

_ Are these the men with which I am to defend America? _

 

He makes a noise that’s almost a sob, and you roll your eyes.

 

“Washington adored you.”

 

_ We ride at midnight, Manhattan in the distance, _

 

He glares, and you shrug your shoulders in an unsympathetic gesture that is perhaps a little bit too harsh.

 

_ I cannot be everywhere at once, people; I’m in dire need of assistance! _

 

Stage-Burr enters the scene, and you feel a weight settle into your stomach like poison or just bitterness.

 

He salutes, facing the audience, and Washington continues to focus on the papers on his desk.

 

_ Your excellency, sir! _

 

You remember this very clearly, you remember the rejection, you remember quitting, you remember him telling you to close the door on your way out when tents don’t even have doors.  _ Tents don’t even have doors. _ That was the harshest rejection you’ve ever experienced, including the time you approached Angelica Schuyler in the early years of the colonies, when rebellion was only talk and King George, the turd (the third), was actually king of you. At least she didn’t treat you like less than a person (admittedly, she was ruthless in turning you down, but that didn’t sting nearly so much as Washington’s stubborn refusal to dignify your requests with a real response).

 

_ Who are you? _

 

Even Alexander knew who you were. Even Alexander, who listens to no one, payed you more mind. You were Aaron Burr, you saved lives, the retreat would not have succeeded without you. You know that in your heart. Without you, Hamilton would have been captured, and then where would Washington be?

 

_ Aaron Burr, Sir. Permission to state my case? _

 

That is an undeniable reference to your later work as a lawyer.

 

_ As you were. _

 

Hamilton looks really smug, and you try to remind yourself that it only reflects on him for having his mood so dependent on others being put down, but it’s hard and maybe you kick him.

 

_ Sir! I was a captain under General Montgomery until he caught a bullet in the neck in Quebec, _

 

You wince at that description, and try not to notice Alexander preening beside you. You fail. You kick him again and then throw the microphone at him for good measure when he doesn’t stop. He catches it and smirks.

 

_ And well, in summary, I think that I could be of some assistance. _

 

If these people know you well enough, stage-you will follow that up with some flattery instead of just letting it hang. 

 

_ I admire how you keep firing on the British from a distance. _

 

“Impressive,” Hamilton mutters, and you resist the urge to ask him whether he’s referring to stage-you’s manners or sardonically reflecting on the flattery; you are rather caught up in the look of incredulity on stage-Washington’s face as he says,

 

_ Huh. _

 

That’s accurate, honestly.

 

_ I have some questions, a couple of suggestions, on how to fight instead of fleeing west. _

 

That was poor phrasing, you would have never presented your argument like that, especially considering how you used to idolise Washington. You feel somewhat insulted. Alexander laughs, drowning out the next few words, but then immediately quiets when his stage-self appears on the scene. Typical.

 

_ Your Excellency, you wanted to see me? _

 

Stage-Washington sets aside some papers, providing stage-Alexander with his full attention. You realise that not even once did stage-Washington make eye contact with your stage self.

 

_ Hamilton, come in! Have you met Burr? _

 

Such a ridiculous question, considering how your stage self straightened up defensively upon hearing stage-Hamilton’s voice, but Washington never paid any attention to you, so you suppose it is at least realistic. 

 

_ Yessir. _

 

Both of the actors say at once:

 

_ We keep meeting. _

 

Stage-Hamilton looks pleased, but your onstage counterpart glares at the floor as he says it, and his expression twists before he smooths it out and turns back to Washington to say,

 

_ As I was saying, sir, I look forward to seeing your strategy play out _ \--

 

He interrupts you. Not you, actually… He interrupts stage-Burr.

 

_ Burr? _

 

_ Sir? _

 

_ Close the door on your way out. _

 

Washington looks stage-Burr in the eyes for the first time in the entire exchange, only willing to acknowledge you to send you away or spurn you; you saved his precious  _ right hand man _ (you can tell exactly where this awful song is going) from capture during the retreat from Manhattan, and he can’t even acknowledge that. And maybe if he had, he wouldn’t have had to ask earlier if you and Alexander had met or not.

Hamilton starts snickering next to you, and says,

“It was a tent, there wasn’t any door,” loudly enough that the microphone hears it, and it is repeated to the entire theater. Just one of his many talents, you suppose. Ruining your reputation. Astounding.

There’s a few chuckles scattered around the theater, but thankfully, they die out quickly. Stage-Hamilton says something in a meek tone of voice, probably specifically chosen to garner sympathy. You’re sort of out of patience for this song.

 

Useless posturing ensues, then some ego-stroking, denial, and philosophical bullshit from Washington:  _ Dying is easy, young man. Living is harder. _ He got one thing right.

 

You need to calm down, actually. This is not George Washington. That is not Alexander Hamilton. History is not always written by the victors. If it were, this song would be different, as you were the actual victor of your and Hamilton’s duel, and history went against you anyway. You cannot expect sympathy from this musical. It doesn’t know you on any level deeper than the superficial.

 

You will treat it as though it is a humor piece, and avoid any further revenge fantasies by reminding yourself that the person who wrote this was completely and irrevocably wrong. Hamilton nudges you.

“This is masterfully done; I’m starting to feel that maybe whoever wrote this knew what he was talking about after all.”

You make a noncommittal noise and shrug your shoulders. You can’t wait until this song is over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! And I want to thank all of those who have commented, too; feedback really is an enourmous help, and without you guys, I probably would have given up on this story by now.
> 
> [tumblr](http://coralflower-ao3.tumblr.com)  
> [chatzy](http://us20.chatzy.com/24995159035198)
> 
> EDIT: removed the long ramble that used to be here. 
> 
> Please comment if you liked this chapter!


	13. A Winter's Ball

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have Helpless started, I've written all the way up to "I'm about to change your life" and yeah. Idk when I'll get that posted.

The song ends with another boom, at which both you and Hamilton flinch. Then the stage clears, and Alexander heaves an irritated sigh as the music starts up and stage-Burr, standing alone in the middle of the stage, starts off the new song with,

 

_ How does the bastard, orphan, son of a whore… _

 

Hm, now where have you both heard that before? You sort of hope it turns out to be a commonly repeated theme in this musical, just because you’re still somewhat bitter about that last song with Washington.

 

_...go on and on, grow, into more of a phenomenon, _

 

Of course, though, this song is just another one singing his praises, as it were. You’re not surprised.

 

_ Watch this obnoxious, arrogant, loudmouth bother… _

 

You let yourself grin at that, and Alexander sniffs and turns up his nose. Sometimes it’s hard to believe he’s actually real; you can’t imagine taking yourself quite that seriously, at least not anymore.

 

_...be seated at the right hand of the father! _

 

And then… wait for it… he preens, just as you predicted to yourself. His expression when he meets your eyes is gloating, smug, and you can see the whole world reflected in his eyes.

 

_ Washington hires Hamilton right on sight, _

 

“Stop gloating, Alexander, it’s unseemly.” He elbows you and wiggles his eyebrows as he says,

“Spoils of war, Burr. I’m perfectly within my rights.”

 

You open your mouth to contradict him, but he cuts you off by saying,

“Besides, you tell jokes about killing me in that duel, do you not?” and you choke on nothing. He looks back at the stage, even more smug than before, as you struggle to articulate a retort before finally giving up and turning your attention back to the stage.

 

_ Now Hamilton’s skill with a quill is undeniable, _

 

“You’re preening, Alexander.”

 

_ But what do we have in common? _

 

He elbows you again as it hits you that the two of you have nothing in common, not anymore. It’s as though when you shot him, you lost every quality that you shared with him.

 

_ We’re reliable with the LAY-DEEZ! _

 

Ah. Perhaps you do still have that quality. You find yourself smirking. Both stage-Hamilton and the real Hamilton try to make eye contact with you, wiggling their eyebrows and being generally incorrigible.

 

_ There are so many to deflower! _

 

You point out to Alexander that the man onstage did the same thing as him. His jaw drops, and he makes an indignant noise, irrationally put out. He grabs the microphone from where he had set it on the armrest further from you, and manages to say two words into it before you can grab it from him. Bastard.

 

“I’d like-- Hey!”

 

“Quiet.”

 

You’re only able to hear the tail end of the next line:

 

_ Martha Washington named her feral tomcat after him _

 

Hamilton smirks, and stage-Hamilton turns towards the audience to reaffirm,

 

_ That’s true! _

 

You roll your eyes. Stage-Burr drawls out,

 

_ 1780; A winter’s ball. And the Schuyler sisters are the envy of all,  _

 

Stage-Alexander intercepts stage-Lafayette and offers stage-Angelica his arm. Alexander is furrowing his brow next to you. You sense drama.

 

_ Yo, if you could marry a sister, you’re rich, son _

 

You remember teasing Alexander about that. It was the last time you joked about his lack of affluence, because you saw what it did to him, and you valued (still value) his friendship. Also, “son.”

 

_ Is it a question of “if,” Burr, or which one? _

 

You can’t help laughing at that, because it’s a very Hamilton thing to say. You look over at him, and he’s massaging his temples, face flushed red.

 

Stage-Hamilton and stage-Laurens are looking straight at you when you turn back to the stage, wiggling their eyebrows like mad, but you think it would be energy better spent on Alexander, so you tilt your head towards him. They switch their focus for the last few seconds before the song transitions into something else, and you nudge Alexander.

 

He does a double take, glancing up at the stage. His eyebrows shoot up, and you can hear him mutter something under his breath, but you can’t tell exactly what. It’s amusing anyway, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be honest, I'm losing steam. Sorry. Please comment? I understand if you're angry with me, and I know this was a short chapter so there's not much to talk about.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiya!! you may notice from the scroll bar that this chapter is Very Very Long (almost 3500 words)-- im not gonna tell you why its so long because im hoping for comments about your reaction when you realise Exactly Why its So Dang Long lmao,,, pls comment.
> 
> (note: some lyrics are slightly incorrect; that's because this is from Burr's POV, and he's filling in what makes most sense to him)
> 
> enjoy!!

The stage begins spinning again, and Stage-Eliza appears on the scene, twirling around and singing under the impressively bright lighting, a jubilant expression on her face. She turns towards the audience just in time to belt out,

 

_ Boy, you got me helpless! _

 

You look over at Alexander. His expression is one of horror.

 

_ Look into your eyes, and the sky’s the limit, I’m helpless! _

 

He might already be crying, but you don’t check too carefully, because you’d rather just… not deal with it. He wouldn’t appreciate it, anyway.

 

_ Down for the count and I’m drownin’ in ‘em. _

 

You don’t have any idea what “down for the count” means, but her description of drowning in Hamilton’s eyes is nothing new. Stage-Eliza twirls once more before the stage stops spinning too, and looks out over the audience, a radiant smile on her face.

 

_ I have never been the type to try and grab the spotlight, _

 

What the fuck is a spotlight. Alexander shrugs, and you realise you said that out loud.

 

_ We were at a revel with some rebels on a hot night, _

 

Her vocals are rather impressive. You glance at Alexander again. His eyes are carefully averted from the stage. Just because you can, and because you know it will get to him, you quietly point out,

 

“She’s singing in past tense.”

 

He looks up at you, completely miserable, and you suddenly regret mentioning it.

 

_...you walked in and my heart went “boom!” _

 

A diagonal pathway of light illuminates part of the stage, and everyone besides Eliza freezes for a beat. Both you and Alexander flinch at the boom, even though it wasn’t nearly as loud as the earlier song, and Alexander peeks longingly at the stage.

 

_ Tryin’ to catch your eye from the side of the ballroom, _

 

Stage-Alexander walks across the stage, following the path that had been lit by spotlights, and stage-Eliza rushes over to stage-Angelica. Alexander mutters something under his breath that you don’t hear.

 

_ Everybody’s dancin’... _

 

“What?”

 

He shakes his head, and looks down at his hands clasped in his lap.

 

“It’s nothing.”

 

_ Glide to the rhythm as we wine and dine, I grab my sister and whisper, _

 

You elbow Alexander, and he looks up at the stage, avoiding your eyes.

 

_ “Yo this one’s mine,” _

 

You can see the pain on his face. He’s always worn his emotions on his sleeve and in his eyes.

 

_ My sister made her way across the room to you, _

 

Stage-Angelica walks across the scene towards stage-Alexander, and you lean over to whisper to him,

 

“How well do you remember that night, Alexander?”

 

He looks back at you, eyes shining, face saturated with both regret and fond remembrance.

 

“I don’t remember the night, per say, mostly Eliza.”

 

“She loves you, you know.”

 

His expression suddenly sharpens, and it’s obvious he just remembered that you know more than he does.

 

“How do you know?”

 

You shrug, and deflect the question,

 

“Anyone could tell.”

 

_...Helpless! _

 

“But let’s keep watching; I have a feeling you’ll see for yourself.”

 

_ Oh, look at those eyes! _

 

You take the opportunity to look at Alexander’s eyes. He swallows, and blinks. Tears run down  his face. You look back at the stage.

 

“You really think… You really think she could love me, after…”

 

“Love doesn’t discriminate, Alexander. I’d wager she loved you the whole time.”

 

You hear him sob, and then he’s silent. You pass him your handkerchief without saying anything else, and then proceed to keep a rather half-hearted eye on him, just in case he gets any… ideas. The next time he looks up is when stage-Hamilton says to stage-Angelica,

 

_ “Where are you taking me?” _

 

Hamilton’s jaw drops just slightly when she responds to stage-Alex with,

 

_ “I’m about to change your life.” _

 

“Then by all means, lead the way,” he mutters under his breath, not even seeming surprised that the actor onstage says the same thing with the same inflection. You, for your part, are flabbergasted.

 

_ Elizabeth Schuyler. It’s a pleasure to meet you. _

 

He swallows audibly.

 

_ Schuyler? _

 

Stage-Angelica grins.

 

_ My sister. _

 

“And she says...”

 

_ Thank you for all your service. _

 

“And I say...”

 

_ If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it. _

 

His brow furrows.

 

“No, that’s  _ cleverer _ than what I said.”

 

_ I’ll leave you to it. _

 

“She shouldn’t have.”

 

_ One week later I’m... _

 

“Oh, hush, honestly.”

 

You give up on hearing the whole song, because honestly, you are getting really fed up with his constant negative comments.

 

“I  _ mean _ it.”

 

“Alexander, what’s done is done.”

 

“As you should know, Burr.”

 

You frown for a moment before you realise what he means, and then feel your face close off as you turn back to the stage. You know he’s just lashing out because he feels like a failure himself, you  _ know _ this, yet there’s something intangible about hearing him make cutting remarks about his own death that’s markedly worse than when other people do it.

 

_...she wants to form a harem _

 

Alexander chokes, and you smirk. He notices, and opens his mouth. Uh oh.

 

_ I’m just sayin’ if you really loved me you would share him! _

 

He chokes again at that, and you can’t hold back a chuckle.

 

_ Ha! _

 

“Burr, give me the microphone.”

 

“What for?” You think you already know.

 

“I want to ask if that truly was the case.”

 

“Wait until the end of the song, then.”

 

“What? Don’t be ridiculous, I’ll have been distracted by then.”

 

You almost say something like  _ that’ll be your own fault, if it happens, _ but he looks genuinely distressed by the idea that he might forget, so instead, you say,

 

“I’ll remind you.”

 

And all the fight goes out of him suddenly.

 

“Alright.”

 

He sits up, stops reaching for the microphone.

 

_...grabs you by the arm and says “be true” _

 

“Oh God, I remember that.”

 

You snort, because he still looks very intimidated by just the thought of Philip Schuyler, who you know from your experience beating him at the Senate is not a very intimidating man

 

_...you turn back to me, smiling, and I’m helpless! _

 

He looks at you, eyes shining, and says,

 

“She really was quite stunning.”

 

You nod bemusedly.

 

“I suppose so.”

 

You turn back to the stage just in time to watch stage-Alexander do some weird sort of victory dance, only to be interrupted by Mr. Schuyler, who hands him a glass.

 

_ That boy is mine! _

 

Alexander chokes on a sob, still smiling beneath the pain suddenly back on his face.

 

“Hey,” you tell him, putting a hand on his shoulder, which he immediately shrugs off. “It’s alright. It’s fine.”

 

He shakes his head.

 

_...Eliza, I don’t have a dollar to my name, _

 

You roll your eyes at him. Back onstage, the two actors face each other, and stage-Alexander begins what you can only assume will be a long-winded rant about how he’s not good enough for her.

 

_ An acre of land, a troop to command, a dollop of fame, _

 

You knew it.

 

_ All I have’s my honour, _

 

“Fuck,” Alexander bites out.

 

_ A tolerance for pain, _

 

You consider comforting him.

 

_ A couple’a college credits and my top notch brain, _

 

He  _ does _ crack a smile at that, so you suppose it’s unnecessary.

 

_ Insane! Your family brings out a different side of me, _

 

A pause, and then:

 

“That’s where I went wrong.”

 

“How do you mean?”

 

_...don’t stress! My love for you is never in doubt, _

 

Alexander stares wistfully at the stage for another moment before he answers you.

 

“I isolated myself from Eliza, the children... all of them. They bring out the best in me.”

 

_...been livin’ without a family since I was a child, _

 

Neither of you say anything else.

 

_ My father left, my mother died, _

 

That is, neither of you say anything else until Alexander mutters,

 

“I didn’t tell her about my mother.”

 

_ But I’ll never forget my mother’s face, _

 

“Oh, come off it,” he complains.

 

_...as long as I’m alive Eliza, swear to God, you’ll never feel so... _

 

“What?”

 

He looks at you sardonically, eyebrows quirked into an expression of supreme disdain.

 

“It’s so...  _ contrived, _ ‘I’ll never forget my mother’s face,’ ‘oh, I’m a poor orphan but I promise, I promise I’ll be a good, honourable man for you, Eliza--’”

 

“Is that not what you said every chance you got? Albeit with other names substituted in.”

 

He rolls his eyes, turning away from you to continue muttering under his breath. You wish he would stop; it’s quite distracting. And then he looks up at the stage and notices his stage self speaking to stage-Laurens, and cringes. Yeah, you don’t think you’ll ask him about that.

 

_ My life is gon’ be fine, cus Eliza’s in it, _

 

He heaves a sigh, and you are so close to slapping him across the face and telling him to stop with the angst, except that would likely cause him to disrupt the performance.

 

_ I look into your eyes, and the sky’s the limit, _

 

“I’m such a dirty liar, Burr.”

 

“Everyone lies sometimes, Alexander.”

 

“Not-- not like I did. Not like this.”

 

“Alexander, do you want my advice?”

 

He pauses, suddenly apprehensive.

 

“You hardly ever offer me advice.”

 

“Well?”

 

He huffs out a frustrated breath.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Tell her this. Tell her how you know it’s wrong. And then deal with the consequences. But don’t make it about you. Don’t do  _ this, _ ” you’re referring to his incessant self-deprecation, “in front of her. And be okay with whatever she decides.”

 

A flash of something you can’t identify passes across his face, but he nods just as his stage self and stage-Eliza kiss; apparently, they reenacted a wedding while the two of you weren’t paying attention, because that’s how the stage is now set up.

 

And the audience applauds as all the lights go blue.

 

More music starts up, and as the applause starts to die down, stage-Laurens, in a pretty accurate imitation of someone drunk off their ass, lurches across the stage.

 

_ Alright, alright! That’s what I’m talkin’ about! _

 

The lights turn red-orange, and you look over at Alexander to see guilt on his face. Again. Fucker.

 

_ Now everyone give it up for the maid of honour, Angelica Schuyler! _

 

Stage-Angelica, now standing in the dead center of the scene, lifts her glass.

 

_ A toast to the groom! _

 

Her words are chorused back at her by the other actors onstage, and you can’t help the shudder that runs through you. The effect is downright haunting.

 

_ To the bride! _

 

Beside you, Alexander has begun to fidget.

 

_ From your sister... _

 

He squirms one last time, and then finally bursts out in a loud whisper, apparently no longer able to contain himself,

 

“She sounds  _ sad, _ why does she sound so sad?”

 

You look at him, and suddenly notice how panicked he is. You almost shush him, but it occurs to you that that would probably be the exact opposite of helpful.

 

_...to your union! _

 

The way the chorus members echo her words this time brings tears to Alexander’s eyes.

 

_ and the hope that you provide! _

 

“I can only assume we will find out, Alexander.”

 

_ May you always... _

 

“I suppose,” he mumbles.

 

_...be satisfied... _

 

Alexander gasps.

 

_ Rewind... _

 

And so do you, as everyone onstage  _ goes back through their actions in the previous song, only backwards. _

 

And then Angelica stands onstage alone.

 

_ I remember that night, I just might-- _

 

Alexander looks apprehensive.

 

_ I remember that night, I just might-- _

 

He’s no longer making any attempts to hide his tears.

 

_ I remember that night, I remember that-- _

 

Both of you shiver as the strange, warped quality to the sound goes away and suddenly only a chiming melody, lasting just a moment or two, plays.

 

_ I remember that night, I just might regret that night for the rest of my days, _

 

Alexander chokes.

 

_ I remember those soldier boys, tripping over themselves to win our praise, _

 

You are probably the only person in the audience right now who isn’t staring transfixed at stage-Angelica; you know Alexander is.

 

_ I remember that dreamlike candlelight like a dream that you can’t quite place, _

 

She really is speaking quite fast.

 

_ But Alexander, I will never forget the first time I saw your face, _

 

“Oh,” he says.

 

_ I have never been the same, _

 

“Me neither,”

 

_...eyes and a hunger-pang frame, _

 

There they go with the eyes again.

 

_ And when you said “hi” I forgot my dang name, _

 

You can relate to that; contrary to what this musical says, he did not say your name to you as he introduced himself, and upon meeting his eyes for the first time...  _ Trouble _ was the only word that immediately came to mind, closely followed by  _ adventure _ and  _ glory. _

 

_ Set my heart aflame, every part aflame, this is not a game. _

 

And stage-Alexander cuts in with,

 

_ You strike me as a woman who has never been satisfied... _

 

“Interesting,” mutters Alexander.

 

_ I’m sure I don’t know what you mean, you forget yourself, _

 

And then, taking an eager step forwards, cutting across her again-- barely late enough to not be interrupting-- stage-Alexander says,

 

_ You’re like me; I’m never satisfied. _

 

Stage-Angelica’s voice is fragile as she responds,

 

_ Is that right? _

 

And Alexander says the next lyric with his stage-counterpart, apparently no longer surprised each time they happen to be on the same wavelength:

 

_ I have never been satisfied. _

 

There’s a beat of silence, during which Alexander takes a shaky breath.

 

_ My name is Angelica Schuyler. _

 

Stage-Hamilton leans down to kiss her hand.

 

_ Alexander Hamilton. _

 

He steps in again, placing the two of them mere inches away.

 

_ Where’s your family from? _

 

“Unimportant,” mutters Alexander,  _ there’s a million things I haven’t done, but, _ Stage-Alexander continues, walking around her like he’s physically unable to remain in one place for more than two lines,  _ just you wait, just you wait! _

 

The song comes into its own in the next few seconds, with Angelica’s line,

 

_ So so so-- so this is what it feels like, to match wits, _

 

“God,” you mutter.

 

_...with someone at your level, what the hell is the catch? it’s, _

 

Alexander nods in agreement, unwilling to spare the thought to respond verbally.

 

_ the feeling of freedom, of seein’ the light! _

 

Stage-Angelica remains facing towards the audience even as other dance partners take her hands and dance around her, which probably is meant to display how Hamilton stuck in her thoughts like he does to everyone.

 

_ It’s Ben Franklin with a key and a kite! _

 

“Sparks,” you mutter to Alexander, who got the microphone at some point and seems to be about to interrupt.

 

_ You see it, right? _

 

A look of understanding flashes across his face, but then the two of you can only watch as stage-Angelica recites her lines so rapidly that it’s impossible to even think between them until you get used to it, several lines later.

 

_ I wanna take him far away from this place, _

 

The stage lights up diagonally again like it did in the song just before, and stage-Alexander traverses it in the same manner as before. That’s when you notice they’re repeating the same actions again, this time forwards, and with different words.

 

_ Then I turn and see my sister’s face and she is, _

 

Stage-Eliza grasps at Angelica’s hands, a pinched, anxious look on her face.

 

_ Helpless, _

 

“Oh,” says Alexander.

 

_ And I know she is, _

 

Stage-Angelica pulls Eliza around to face away from stage-Hamilton, but she still glances back at him before she adds,

 

_ Helpless, _

 

“Oh, damn,” says Alexander.

 

_ And her eyes are just, _

 

Stage-Eliza swivels her head to peek at stage-Alexander, then turns back around and leans back in to sing,

 

_ Helpless, _

 

“Oh, goddammit to hell,” says Alexander.

 

_ And I realise _

 

Stage-Angelica begins to walk over to stage-Alexander,

 

_ three fundamental truths _

 

who offers her his arm,

 

_ at the exact same time, _

 

and repeats, as in the previous song,

 

_ Where are you taking me? _

 

_ I’m about to change your life. _

 

_ Then by all means, lead the way. _

 

The chiming melody repeats

 

_ Number one! _

 

“Oh God,” says Alexander.

 

_ I’m a girl in a world in which my only job is to marry rich, _

 

You understand the sentiment. Stage-Angelica has proven herself quite worthy of any role she might be given with this, assuming standards haven’t changed more than style-wise since your time.

 

_ My father has no son, so I’m the one who has to social climb, for one, _

 

Stage-Angelica lists reasons counting them off on her fingers as she goes in the next line,

 

_ ‘Cus I’m the oldest and the wittiest and the gossip, _

 

You notice the use of the word “wittiest” where “prettiest” is the more obvious choice; that’s probably intentional.

 

_ and New York City is insidious, _

 

“I’ve always loved that word,” says Alexander in the pause between that and the next line, leaving you no time to respond without interrupting stage-Angelica. Ass.

 

_ And Alexander is penniless, _

 

He cringes.

 

_ Ha! That doesn’t mean I want him any less. _

 

They go back through the introductions, and then:

 

_ Number two: he’s after me ‘cus I’m a Schuyler sister, _

 

You look at Alexander, whose face is twisted in a grimace.

 

_ That elevates his status, I’d _

 

You don’t know why he’s so averse to it being pointed out; it was all pretty transparent at the time, in your opinion.

 

_ have to be naive to set that aside, _

 

“Like Eliza; oh, fuck,” he says.

 

_ Maybe that is why, _

 

“She introduced me to Eliza,”

 

_ Now that’s his bride, _

 

How does he keep doing this?

 

_ Nice going, Angelica, he was right! _

 

Seriously, how does he keep muttering things that line up with the lyrics exactly?

 

_ You will never be satisfied. _

 

“How do you keep doing that?”

 

“Doing what?”

 

“Muttering phrases that happen to also be in this--” You cut yourself off as the song picks back up again,

 

_ Number three: I know my sister like I know my own mind, _

 

You have no way to relate to that, but you think it must be a sort of exhilarating feeling, to know someone that well. If only you knew Alexander so well.

 

_ You will never find anyone as trusting or as kind, _

 

Oh god. You turn towards Alexander, already anticipating some extreme reaction, but instead, he’s just closed in on himself, which is... worrying. The last and only time you saw him like this was in the wake of Laurens’s death.

 

_ If I tell her that I love him she’d be silently resigned, _

 

From what you’ve heard of Eliza after Alexander’s death, that is no longer true, but it may well have been at this point in the story. Or at this point in history. Or your lives. Either one.

 

_ He’d be mine, _

 

Stage-Angelica hugs herself as she sings that line

 

_ She would say, “I’m fine,” _

 

“She’d be lying,” chokes out Alexander, through sobs, slightly off beat.

 

_ But when I fantasise at night it’s Alexander’s eyes, _

 

Again with the eyes. God.

 

_ As I romanticise what might have been, if I hadn’t sized _

 

“What might have been” would be her getting cheated on-- well, you suppose that’s the reason for the presence of the word “romanticise” in that line.

 

_ him up so quickly... _

 

You hear a sob from Alexander, and reach into your pocket to give him your handkerchief, only to remember you already lent it to him.

 

_ At least my dear Eliza’s his wife, _

 

You don’t want to imagine the guilt he must be feeling right now. You’re glad you don’t have to; this is one of the few times where your unusually low empathy comes in handy.

 

_ At least I keep his eyes in my life, _

 

There’s definitely some sort of meaning attached to eyes in this production, but you don’t have time to consider it further; the music, which had waned to match stage-Angelica’s singing, swells again.

 

_ To the groom! _

 

Again, the others onstage repeat her words, and again, you get gooseflesh.

 

_ To the bride! _

 

Alexander fidgets again.

 

_ From your sister... _

 

“We know now, why she sounded so sad at the beginning,” you point out over the next line.

 

_ To your union! _

 

He doesn’t answer immediately.

 

_ And the hope that you provide! _

 

“I suppose we do.”

 

_ May you always... _

 

His voice sounds weary, raw, like he’s been crying, which you know he has.

 

_...be satisfied... _

 

The other actors begin to clear the stage, and if it weren’t for the unresolved, dissatisfying feeling of the last note, you’d think the song was over. Although maybe that’s the point?

 

_ And I know... _

 

Nope.

 

_ She’ll be happy as his bride... _

 

Alexander sobs yet again.

 

_ And I know... _

 

You pat him on the shoulder.

 

_ He will never be satisfied, _

 

 

 

_ I will never be satisfied. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> take a moment if you need it. 
> 
>  
> 
> there's more info on my writing process, and stuff, on the [tumblr](http://coralflower-ao3.tumblr.com/) if you're interested.
> 
> I anticipate that the next chapter will be at least halfway done by this wednesday or thursday, and i'll try to have something posted by friday failing that. ill at least make sure to post some sort of thing on the tumblr if i get delayed.
> 
> also, here's the [chatzy](http://us20.chatzy.com/24995159035198)! please please _please_ feel free to come in there and scream with me!! ill probably be in there til at least 7 or 8 AM may 30th US central time cus i have nothing better to do and also cramps. and also i check it regularly after i post a chapter so if you leave feedback there ill get it!
> 
> speaking of feedback!! please comment holy fuck i know its been forever but,,, blease,,,,, i worked so hard,,


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is like four days late but oh well!

When the music for the next song begins, it takes a moment for the audience to stop clapping and quiet back down as the four actors for Hamilton, Laurens, Mulligan, and Lafayette stumble into center-stage. The mood shift is very sudden, from angst and despair to drunken revels.

 

_I may not live to see our glory,_

 

Stage-Mulligan and stage-Lafayette repeat after him, holding onto each other as they lurch across the stage. They both try to sit down in the same chair at first, drawing laughter from the audience, but then stage-Lafayette gives a mighty shove and... pushes himself off the chair to land on the floor. So that’s what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

 

“That’s an equal-opposite reaction, right there,” Alexander whispers.

 

_But I’ve seen wonders great and small,_

 

Stage-Laurens winks at stage-Alexander, who gestures at himself in what you’d guess is some sort of imitation of a typical fallen woman’s posturing to make herself look more desirable. Some things never change, you suppose. Alexander laughs out loud beside you, while stage-Lafayette pulls himself up using Mulligan’s chair and then leans on it behind him.

 

_I’ve seen wonders great and small!_

 

This version of the song is much more lighthearted than the first iteration of it, and the way stage-Mulligan and stage-Lafayette echo every line definitely contributes to that.

 

_And if the tomcat can get married,_

 

Laurens drops an arm around stage-Hamilton’s shoulders, grinning hugely.

 

“He’s faking,” breathes Alexander, almost too quietly to hear.

 

_If Alexander can get married,_

 

Stage-Laurens pulls back and looks darkly at the floor for just a moment before grinning again and holding his glass out jauntily towards the audience.

 

_There’s hope for our ass after all,_

 

Ha. Of course, you remember. There was a joke going around the group for maybe two weeks, about how, “now that Alexander is _married,_ he’s already achieved the impossible once! If they gave him a command, maybe he’d do it again.” That last part was added by Hamilton himself, if you remember correctly.

 

_Raise a glass to freedom,_

 

Stage-Lafayette raises his glass as he says it, sounding surprisingly fluent for someone who’s supposed to be drunk.

 

_Hey!_

 

Stage-Mulligan stands up, and Lafayette moves to steal his chair, only to be thwarted when Mulligan pulls it out from under him and tosses it to someone offstage.

 

_Something you will never see again,_

 

What?

 

_No matter what she tells you,_

 

Oh. You’ve always been of the opinion that any partner who feels like a burden isn’t worth the time (even if you betrayed your own feelings quite recently by marrying Eliza Jumel), and seeing the opposite sentiment still reflected over 200 years later is somewhat disheartening.

 

_Let’s have another round tonight!_

 

Nevermind that, though; these antics really are amusing.

 

_Raise a glass to the four of us,_

 

Stage John Laurens executes a maneuvre that would certainly see his glass spilled all over the floor were it actually full of liquid.

 

_To the newly not poor of us,_

 

The other three start imitating the dance that stage-Alexander did in the middle of Eliza’s song, and stage-Alexander puts a hand to his face in exasperation.

 

_We’ll tell the story of tonight,_

 

 

 

_Let’s have another round..._

 

You notice your stage self on the sidelines, looking hesitant, and so does stage-Alexander.

 

_Well, if it isn’t Aaron Burr!_

 

Stage-you raises his glass, and stage-Alexander makes his way over to him, looking very decidedly sober.

 

_Sir!_

 

The other revolutionaries cross their arms. You notice stage-Laurens looking off to the side, but his face is in shadow, so you can’t tell what expression he’s wearing.

 

_I didn’t think that you would make it._

 

Stage-Alexander grins as he says it.

 

_Well, to be sure!_

 

Alexander elbows you and whispers to look at Laurens, who isn’t really doing anything interesting.

 

_Burr!_

 

Alexander continues to nudge you, and you shrug at him. You have no idea what he wants you to notice.

 

“Nothing, nevermind.”

 

_Spit a verse, Burr._

 

“Okay.”

 

_I see the whole gang is here._

 

Your stage self deflects the request, and you sigh. You remember how much effort you put into keeping your distance from everyone, and where did it get you? Nowhere good.

 

_You are the worst, Burr._

 

Stage-Alexander rolls his eyes, and waves the others aside.

 

_Ignore them, congrats to you, Lieutenant Colonel, I wish I had your command,_

 

You snort, and Alexander elbows you.

 

_instead of manning George’s journal._

 

Your stage-self shakes his head.

 

_No you don’t._

 

Alexander scoffs, and reaches for the microphone, which he’s made the mistake of setting down on the floor.

 

_Yes I do!_

 

Before he can reach it, you grab it, and hold it out of his reach.

 

_Now, be sensible; from what I hear you’ve made yourself indispensable,_

 

Both Alexanders preen, and you roll your eyes.

 

_Well, I heard you got a special someone on the side, Burr,_

 

Stage-Hamilton looks askance at your stage self, who freezes in place.

 

_Is that so?_

 

Ah, you remember this, or something like it. Your onstage counterpart looks ready to run away.

 

_What’re you tryin’ to hide, Burr?_

 

_I should go._

 

You nod. That’s an accurate response.

 

_No, these guys should go!_

 

The others protest, only to be shoved unceremoniously away by stage-Hamilton.

 

_Leave us alone._

 

Stage-Mulligan makes what you can only assume to be an obscene gesture, because the audience laughs.

 

_It’s alright, Burr. I wish you’d brought this girl with you tonight, Burr._

 

Ha. As if that would’ve worked out.

 

_You’re very kind, but I’m afraid it’s unlawful, sir._

 

...You might vaguely remember having that much tact.

 

_What do you mean?_

 

Even back then, though, you were more likely to just come right out and say--

 

_She’s married._

 

Ah, there it is.

 

_I see._

 

After a short pause, your stage self continues,

 

_She’s married to a British officer._

 

Hamilton snorts.

 

_Oh, shit…_

 

The audience laughs, partially drowning out the first part of the next line.

 

_...smile more. I’ll see you on the other side of the war._

 

You remember how much you envied him at the time, what with his ability to marry the woman he loved.

 

_I will never understand you._

 

“That’s the truth,” mutters Alexander.

 

_If you love this woman, go get her!_

 

“The feeling is mutual.”

 

_What are you waiting for?_

 

Wow, what a loaded question.

 

_I’ll see you on the other side of the war._

 

Stage-Hamilton looks down at his hands for a moment before responding.

 

_I’ll see you on the other side of the war._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is wait for it!!!! im hyped, are you hyped??? ive been writing it since october.......
> 
>  
> 
> [chatzy](http://us20.chatzy.com/24995159035198)
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](https://coralflower-ao3.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> I'll get wait for it posted as soon as I can, and then after that is Stay Alive. Please, _please_ feel free to leave ideas for how they'd react to it! I'm... probably gonna have a hard time, RIP, but I'm so glad I've gotten all the way to Wait For It, which is the halfway point of Act 1! I wasn't sure I would make it, when I first started out.
> 
> (I have something written for every single line of Wait For It except two, so I really just have to revise... It might still take a week or so, but it's really going to be so amazing and I can't wait)
> 
> Please comment if you enjoyed this! comments give me life....


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay y'all. This chapter has been in progress since late October of 2016. Since it's now mid-June of 2017, that makes over eight months that I've been writing this chapter. 
> 
> So please enjoy, and here's a scavenger hunt list of symbolism/allusions to be found in this chapter:  
> \- light vs. shadow, life vs. death, fame vs. obscurity, everything vs. nothing  
> \- things breaking  
> \- rope  
> \- the ocean/ water in general  
> \- home  
> \- an EXTREMELY vague reference to this one Christian quote/proverb/verse(?) that I've heard all over the place  
> \- so many references to later lyrics in the musical  
> \- also SO MUCH parallelism, please notice it, I worked so hard
> 
> Anyone who wants to try and figure out where some or all of these appear and leave a comment with it gets a cookie!

After Hamilton leaves, your stage self stands alone in the center of the scene, a single light illuminating his position. Some music starts up, and the first word that occurs to you to describe it is _smooth._

 

_Theodosia writes me a letter every day_

 

Oh, god, the letters. You remember those letters, which you still keep just a room away from you. Theodosia is gone, but you remember every day and every letter, and the countless nights spent pining, fantasising, biding your time, hoping selfishly (secretly) that a letter would arrive saying _Dear Mrs. Prevost, We regret to inform you,_ or _As your husband’s commanding officer I can only commend his service,_ or even _He fought well, and displayed exemplary courage, behaving honourably in all his endeavors,_ hoping, hoping, hoping everything would work out, impatient on the inside, more impatient than Hamilton even, because you could be sure of nothing and you had so much to lose.

 

You’ve lost it all.

 

_I'm keeping the bed warm while her husband is away_

 

Alexander elbows you and waggles his eyebrows, and you break eye contact, just wishing to go back, back to the time when everyone was alive and you weren’t alone.

 

_He's on the British side in Georgia; he's trying to keep the colonies in line_

 

Who cares about Georgia. You had Theodosia; you had her and she had you. You had each other. Georgia was nothing compared to being safe in her arms. The whole world, despite its enormity, is nothing compared to the wide emptiness you feel without her.

 

_But he can keep all of Georgia_

 

He could’ve kept the whole world and you wouldn’t have protested so long as he didn’t come back. Your heart aches for her. It’s been so long. You wish only that you could touch her again, exchange another letter, even just see her from afar. You miss her.

 

_Theodosia, she's mine_

 

She may have been yours, but you were also hers. You were each other’s. Everything seemed perfect, and every single part of you screamed for you to leave everything behind and run off with her; your entire being told you _Grab this chance and don’t let go of it. Cast off everything: your command, your responsibilities, your friends..._ You wanted her more than you’ve ever wanted anything, and you didn’t want to wait.

 

The waiting was the hardest part. It wasn’t hard to make the decision that she was the most important thing you had ever known. It wasn’t hard to love her. It wasn’t hard to need her.

 

It was hard to wait to keep her.

 

_Love doesn't discriminate_

 

Oh, you said that, just a few moments ago... Interesting, but likely just a coincidence. You aren’t going to get too worked up about it.

 

_Between the sinners and the saints_

 

You never felt like you deserved her, but she loved you, and goddammit, you loved her. You still love her. It wasn’t a difficult choice. Every day you chose to love her; every day you chose to wait. You made the choice to love her over and over again until you didn’t realise you were making it. But you never got used to choosing to wait.

 

Waiting is hard.

 

_It takes and it takes and it takes_

 

Love took nothing. Love took everything.

 

Love took waiting, love took time, it took compassion and caring and a willingness to trust, and it took energy to make all those things happen, it took energy to wait and to care and to trust.

 

It didn’t take energy to love. Loving was the easy part.

 

Georgia and all the world can disappear for all you care. You want Theodosia back. You want to go back to the days of loving her and the nights of loving with her, and the letters, always the letters, she was so smart (she knew how to use words like ropes, like home-cooked meals, like expensive glass windows allowing you to see shapes through them, the shapes of her thoughts-- she knew how to use words to show you her feelings, to keep you, to nourish you; she knew you). If the world could stop existing, and it could just be the two of you, you think it would feel like floating, because it is the world that makes it hard to love.

 

Love is easy. The world made you wait.

 

_And we keep loving anyway_

 

You kept loving even though you had to wait, because you knew it would be worth it, even though it was hard. God, it was hard.

 

_We laugh and we cry_

 

You remember laughing, sweeping her off her feet when the news arrived that her husband had died. It was December, there was snow on the ground, and she was crying, so you cried too. You laughed and cried together, and that night it felt like ice was breaking, like even though it was December it could still be a sort of springtime, like the iced-over surface of your heart’s rivers could crack and let your passion through, finally, finally the waiting was over.

 

_And we break_

 

Being with her felt like breaking, like-- god, you miss her (you _miss_ her); you remember breaking rules, breaking china, you remember your hand on her waist and her eyes staring into yours, breaking you down into glassy pieces that caught the light that lit up her eyes when she spoke to you and reflected it onto ceilings and everywhere-- dazzling, she was dazzling, she was darling, she was daring.

 

_And we make our mistakes_

 

Mistakes like shooting Hamilton. Mistakes like keeping your Senate seat as Theodosia lay dying. Mistakes. So many mistakes. You are so flawed, and you don’t know why you are alive when everyone who loves you has died. They didn’t deserve it.

 

_And if there's a reason I'm by her side_

 

She wouldn’t let you resign from the Senate to spend her last days together. You wanted to stay by her side. You should have insisted. You should have told her that politics could wait. You should have waited. Nothing you did while she was dying mattered. None of it was more important than her.

 

_When so many have tried_

 

Alexander places a hand on your arm, and you look at him without really seeing him. You only see her, really, and the happiness you used to have. Maybe Hamilton says something. You aren’t listening to him. You are listening to stage-you.

 

_Then I'm willing to wait for it_

 

He wants to know if you are alright. You don’t know if you are. You don’t know if you ever have been.

 

_I'm willing to wait for it_

 

 

 

_My grandfather was a fire and brimstone preacher_

 

You have exactly one memory of him. You must have been barely two years old. He lifted you up onto his lap and said to you, _Now Aaron, do you know what smallpox is?_ You told him no, you didn’t know what it was. He said, _Well, it’s a very dangerous disease. A lot of people die because of it. But we have a way to keep that from happening._ You had clapped your hands together and made a celebratory noise. There was fire in his eyes, burning just like the determination ever-present in Hamilton’s. _Indeed. However, there are some people who don’t want to be inoculated, even though it could save their lives._ You didn’t understand at the time, why he was saying it to you.

_But there are things that the homilies and hymns won't teach ya_

 

You understand now. He wanted to make some impression on you. _Aaron, I’ve decided I’m going to get inoculated._ You had looked up at him in awe, aware that he had just said something monumental, but not quite clear on the details. _I’m a very influential preacher, and I think it’s important that people take advantage of this new knowledge._ He had wanted to teach you something you couldn’t just read in the bible. _I can’t make others do what I want them to do; I can only do what is right and hope others follow._ He succeeded. _Remember that, child. You are the one thing in life you can control._ He left a daunting legacy, and made you a part of it.

 

He died less than a month later, from the inoculation.

_My mother was a genius_

 

Alexander nudges you and opens his mouth like he’s about to ask something, probably _honestly who was your mother_ or _I didn’t know sevantitude ran in the family_ , so you shrug before he can voice his concerns. You might ask about this line if the opportunity presents itself; you’ve never felt very connected to your mother, and you don’t know nearly enough about her. You’d be interested in learning more.

_My father commanded respect_

 

You remember awe in the eyes of those at Princeton who remembered your father, and you remember long nights spent sitting in an armchair near a fireplace overlooked by his portrait (you exchanged several notes with a fellow student by way of said portrait, with its convenient niches in which a rolled up slip of paper could easily be stored) studying and wondering and studying and wondering and studying and -- trying to break the loop of distraction that pulled your thoughts from your studies-- would you ever amount to anything? You remember deciding to study theology after earning your degree, hoping for an answer, hoping for some hidden instruction in the coursework (which your father would have had to approve as president); there was nothing.

 

_When they died they left no instructions_

 

There was nothing for you. Nothing, nothing, nothing, you are nothing, you accomplished nothing in your studies. You remember the night the whole illusion came crashing down, the crushing loss you felt anew, left adrift, when you realised the entire world had nothing for you.

 

You were at a loss. You joined the army. You impressed Arnold, you impressed Montgomery, you impressed the whole nation-- Washington gave you no acknowledgement, no commendations, nothing, nothing, nothing. You learned more about human nature in the day after the retreat from Manhattan-- you saved lives, you saved _Alexander_ \-- than you learned in a whole year of poring over religious texts; there were things that the bible could not teach you. You saved an entire brigade from capture and Washington gave you nothing.

 

You saved Hamilton’s life. Hamilton had given you nothing.

 

You took Hamilton’s life. Hamilton has taken everything. Hamilton has left you with nothing.

 

_Just a legacy to protect_

 

Did you protect their legacy?

 

You don’t think it matters at this point in your life. Their legacies will forever be overshadowed by that of their son, the man who murdered Hamilton. And obscurity is the best protection you have ever known.

 

They are safe in oblivion. They are safe, wrapped up in the nothingness that comes in death. They are surrounded by the nothing you gave them, because nothing was all you had, and it is still all you are.

 

_Death doesn’t discriminate between the sinners and the saints_

 

A nebulous concept. Hamilton committed many sins. You both did. And Hamilton’s punishment was nothing. Your reward was the world. The world, with all its ideas and prejudice, was everything possible, and still is.

 

_It takes and it takes and it takes_

 

The one instance in which Hamilton got nothing and you still envy him. Having nothing wouldn’t matter if you didn’t know that some people (Hamilton) had worlds. If Hamilton could disappear, and it could just be you, you think it would feel like floating, because it is Hamilton and people like him which make it hard to have nothing.

 

Having nothing is easy. Hamilton, with all his worlds of words, made you care.

 

_And we keep living anyway_

 

Despite all your best efforts, yes, you have kept living.

 

_We rise_

 

The sun, behind you, at 7:20. In Weehawken, New Jersey on the 11th of July, 1804. It was almost two hours after dawn. He was wearing his glasses, and you panicked.

 

_and we fall_

 

You panicked, you fired, he fell.

 

_And we break_

 

Facing him that day felt like breaking. You remember breaking promises, breaking shot glasses (you shot at his glasses), you remember your hand on the trigger and his eyes staring into yours, breaking you down into pieces that could only pretend to be who you were and crack jokes to cope with their reality.

 

_And we make our mistakes_

 

Mistakes like deceiving Hamilton in establishing the Bank of the Manhattan Company. The man loved banks; you should have known you didn’t need to put clauses for the bank in a bill on water to gain his support but you did it anyway, and because of that, Manhattan’s water remained dirty for some time longer than if you had just kept the banks and the water separate.

 

_And if there’s a reason I’m still alive_

 

There isn’t.

 

_When everyone who loves me has died_

 

“Yes, Alexander, I’m alright.”

 

_I’m willing to wait for it_

 

“I think you’re lying to me. Again.”

 

_I’m willing to wait for it_

 

Your throat is tight and every single muscle in your body is aching to attack him. “Alexander.” You feel the tension in your own voice like when you delivered your farewell speech to the Senate, _and if the Constitution be destined ever to perish by the sacrilegious hands of the demagogue or the usurper, which God avert, its expiring agonies will be witnessed on this floor._

 

“You sound like Eliza, Burr.”

 

_Wait for it_

 

You turn your head to look him in the eye, and attempt to keep your expression smooth. There isn’t much you can do besides breathe, and focus on keeping it even. In and out, again and again.

 

_I am the one thing in life I can control_

 

You feel so _out_ of control, is the problem-- like any second you’ll lose your grasp on everything you are and just cease to be. Everything is tangled, twisted up and unfathomable like a mass of rope. He compared you to Eliza, to his wife he left behind who hates you.

 

_I am inimitable, I am an original_

 

“Burr?”

 

You don’t respond, just look back at the stage and try to focus on your breathing. If you can just wait until the end of this song, he’ll lose interest, something else will distract him. You breathe. In, out, again.

 

_I’m not falling behind or running late,_

 

You breathe in. God, you killed him, he _knows_ you killed him, and he’s worried about you. What makes him the way he is? He’s so strange, so indecipherable.

 

You breathe out. He’s still looking at you expectantly.

 

_I’m not standing still, I am lying wait,_

 

“You still have my handkerchief, correct?”

 

_Hamilton faces an endless uphill climb,_

 

He nods, and pulls it out of his pocket, and out of the corner of your eye you notice his shoulders slump, like he’s accepted he won’t get a word out of you.

 

_He has something to prove, he has nothing to lose,_

 

“You’re feeling guilty,” he says. So what if you are.

 

_Hamilton’s pace is relentless, he wastes no time,_

 

“It’s my turn, then to reassure you, Burr.”

 

_What is it like in his shoes?_

 

You turn to him, and whisper furiously,

 

“You don’t get to absolve me, Alexander. It isn’t your prerogative.”

 

_Hamilton doesn’t hesitate,_

 

Hamilton hesitates.

 

_He exhibits no restraint,_

 

“Alright, Burr,” he says, and you can hear in his voice how hard he’s working to keep himself from saying more. The disparity between the lines of the song and his behavior is tangible.

 

_He takes, and he takes, and he takes,_

 

He holds your handkerchief out for you to take back.

 

_And he keeps winnin’ anyway,_

 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you.

 

_He changes the game,_

 

You shake your head. He’s done wrong, yes, but no wrong that would justify your actions.

 

_He plays and he raises the stakes,_

 

You could have backed out at any moment. Was your honour worth more than his life? No, not even for a moment. Your honour is nothing. He was a world unto himself.

 

_And if there’s a reason he seems to thrive when so few survive,_

 

And god, you killed him. You are the man who killed Alexander Hamilton.

 

_Then goddammit I’m willing to wait for it,_

 

The reason, you realise now, is because he was willing to die for anything. He would’ve died to prove a point. Every single choice he made, he threw his entire self into. He truly meant every single action he took.

He died for his honour because he was _willing_ to die for it.

 

_I’m willing to wait for it!_

 

He was always sincere, always engaged, always present. Not like you, with your walls and smiles and pretty but meaningless words. He was there at every turn, fully invested in his agenda, but you were... adrift. You were adrift in an open ocean of a world with nowhere to tie up, and no rope to use if you did find a place.

 

You found a home in Theodosia, but now? You have nothing. You have always been nothing, and to nothing you shall return. God, you miss Theodosia. You just want to see her again, but it’s only a matter of time until her memory dies with you. Will they tell her story?

 

_Life doesn’t discriminate,_

 

How did he find an identity for himself, when you had so much trouble just acknowledging that you needed one? How was he so inexhaustible, so constantly undeterred?

 

_Between the sinners and the saints,_

 

Even though now you know how to account for his rise to the top, you still don’t understand him. It’s like trying to take in the whole world’s wisdom in a day, watching things slip through the cracks and knowing you’ll never know.

 

_It takes and it takes and it takes,_

 

It’d take several lives to fully comprehend Hamilton, several lives spent only on him. He was so complex, so... so _alive,_ that you’re running out of adjectives. You don’t like thinking about things that you can’t understand.

 

“Burr, really, I’m worried about you.”

 

And still he has this worry for you. God, his attention is so overwhelming; he’s already a huge personality, but to have him focusing his entire self on you? It’s like the whole world is watching, but it’s just him, and just you, and you’re nothing, so it’s just him. It’s just him.

 

“I know,” you tell him, because if there’s one thing neither of you can stand, it’s being ignored. You just deal with it in different ways.

 

_And if there’s a reason I’m still alive when so many have died, then I’m willin’ to--_

 

You make eye contact with him, and something happens, in the moments before the actor onstage finishes the line. Something happens. You don’t know what it is.

 

_Wait for it..._

 

But the two of you are here, and this is real, and that’s enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly I've been working on this for forever. 
> 
> [tumblr](http://coralflower-ao3.tumblr.com)  
> [chatzy](http://www.chatzy.com/24995159035198)
> 
> (Feel free to send me asks or talk at me in the chatzy, even if I'm not online! Neither of those require an account, and both would make my day!)
> 
> I'm working on Stay Alive, and I'll have it posted ASAP. If you have any ideas, feel free to let me know in a comment!
> 
> If you're one of my silent fans, and you've been reading this without commenting/leaving kudos, it would really mean a lot to me if you'd consider doing one of those options. Even if you don't feel like you have anything to say, just scrolling back through a little bit to find a sentence or two you really liked would be amazing; or you can try the scavenger hunt in the beginning AN! My writing really does thrive with validation, and I have a lot of pride in this chapter, so it'd be amazing to know that other people enjoyed it too (I do my best to respond to every single comment, even those left by guests). 
> 
> Thank you for reading!! I can't believe I'm finally posting this chapter. I was so worried I would lose interest sooner.


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